The Hanged Man
by elli-jollywogs
Summary: She wishes she was dead. She wishes that she had gotten sick and died instead of her sister, Alice. She deserves it, after all. Especially now. AH/AU. Rated M for mature themes. Major character death. R&R.
1. The Moon

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephanie Meyer.

WARNING: The content/theme of this story may be a TRIGGER for some. If you have experience with anorexia or ednos be warned. Mature themes ahead...

Song for this chapter: Banners: Ghost

PART ONE: DENIAL

The Moon-Illusion, fear, anxiety, insecurity, subconscious.

I climb the stairs to her room not sure what I'll find; not even sure what it is that I'm looking for. Her bed is still unmade, with sheets of cream colored Egyptian cotton and a rose printed comforter tangled in a heaping mass in the center of her mattress.  
/Her scent still lingers. It's powerful, almost tangible, and it makes a knot form at the base of my throat. I can smell coconut and lime-coolada from the suntan lotion she used to wear. I spot her Chanel No. 5 bottle uncapped and lying sideways onher  
/vanity. Outside, her pink, frosted glass butterfly wind chime spins and clinks peacefully in the gentle springtime breeze; thecalm before the storm. I expect to find all of these things, and I'm comforted by their presence; the fact that they

/remain even though she does not.

I sure as hell don't expect to find him here though, in her room, the night of her memorial. At first I don't even catch sight of him. I'm so busy taking in all that's left of Alice, that my eyes skip right past him. But then I spot him, huddled over  
/and stern-faced as always. His eyes look like hollow pits sunken into his face, which is pale and unshaven. His hair is a greasy mess and just as wavy as ever, tangled and snarled in every direction, but his eyes are just as cold and hard as theyalways  
/were.

He doesn't look guilty for breaking and entering. In fact, he's sitting stoically on the edge of her bed, mindful of the mess of blankets piled in the middle. His posture is defeated, his expression guarded, and his nose is buried in some article of clothing-a  
/familiar navy blue cashmere sweater, I notice- and then suddenly his eyes are on mine. He inhales. Closes his eyes. Drops his hands into his lap. Its silent for one, two, three heartbeats.

"You look so much like her," He finally says to the silence and then adds, "before she got sick." Jasper's lazy southern drawl echoes in the small room and it's been so long, too long since I've heard that voice in this house. He opens his eyes once againand  
/I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. "There are so many things that I never got to tell her," he continues "so many things that I wish I could have said. Like that I was sorry, and that I never meant to hurt her. That I loved her," hepauses,  
/voice thick with emotion. "That I still love her."

Slowly, I make my way over to him. I pull the sweater out of his vice grip. Death grip.

The grip of death.

"This one's mine," I say.

Jasper laughs but it's without humor and then suddenly, as though a switch has been turned, he's crying. It shocks me so thoroughly that at first, I simply freeze. I've never seen Jasper cry in all the years that I've known him. He'salways been

this immoveable, reluctant part of my family and group of friends. For years I saw him as static, never changing; always polite yet removed with regards to my family. Even with his disarming southern manners and charm, he was

distant in that way that he never let anybody too close to him. So to see him crying, especially in plain view of me, despite our tumultuous history, is startling. It's subtle at first, and then gains in intensity until a part of me wants so desperately  
/to comfort him that I find myself reaching out.

This boy I've known for years, who was once a part of our family, who was once a friend, who once loved you so fiercely, deserves to be comforted.

Another part, a larger part, of me is angry. What right does he have to be crying in your room, over your things? I was your _sister_ for fuck's sake.

I grit my teeth and steel my breath but the minute I go to open my mouth it's like I can hear you whispering in my ear, as though we're seven years old playing telephone again. Your voice is quiet, hard to hear, and almost impossible to ignore. I remember  
/the first time you brought Jasper home to meet the family. You pulled me aside, before he stepped confidently out of his vintage black mustang.

"Be nice to him," you whispered conspiratorially, "I think I might keep this one."

Before I can make a decision either way, Jasper straightens up and dries his eyes with the sleeve of his gray Henley and raises his gaze to me. His green eyes are blazing, hypnotizing in their intensity. Suddenly he stands from his spot on Alice's mattress  
/and makes his way over to the open window. The noise of the light rain and wind outside suddenly seems loud in this small space. Jasper glances back at me. His eyes are clear and just as bright as they were before, but his face is once again wiped  
/clean of any and all emotion. As Jasper swings his leg over the windowsill with a glowing confidence that could only come from having done it numerous times before, he smiles a grim smile and bows his head in my direction.

"Bella," he whispers just as he crawls outside onto the roof and out of view. I'm so entranced by the short interaction that the sound of Alice's door opening a moment later makes me jump.

Edward is standing in the doorway, the sleeves to his white button up are rolled and wrinkled and his beautiful auburn and copper tinted strands are in casual disarray.

His eyes are red-rimmed and a wicked, deep emerald green. Nothing like Jasper's troubled almost translucent bottle-glass green and blue. He walks over to the window, shuts it and then pulls me toward him, running his smooth hands up and down my bare arms

"What are you doing?" he whispers gently in the now too quiet room. I take in my surroundings and am suddenly overcome with emotion and exhaustion so crippling it makes my knees nearly buckle.

"Just looking for something," I reply thickly, guiding us towards the hallway. Edward looks confused, but he doesn't say anything. He follows me through the doorway and down the stairs towards the rest of the guests, replacing his suit jacket and awkwardly  
/adjusting the gold cuff-links.

Once we walk into the living room, I grab a glass of fizzing champagne from a passing waiter and rub my forehead with my free hand. The house is immaculate, cut crystal decanters shined, silver polished, and marble floors waxed. The guests are all decked  
/out in their finery, dress shoes and stiletto heels clacking loudly against the marble floor. I can't tell if these people are here because they genuinely liked my sister or because they're trying to schmooze the grieving, yet fastidious power couple-mister  
/and missus Charles P. Swan. The band plays a melancholy melody, heads cocked to the side, as they quick read the lilting notes out of the corner of their eyes. I can feel a killer headache coming on and I down the glass of champagne to distract myself  
/from the burning behind my eyes.

Edward keeps a protective hand on the small of my back and though he shoots me a disapproving glare when I reach for a new champagne flute, he says nothing about my over-indulging. But eventually, the prissy, fizzy champagne isn't enough and I leave the  
/monotonous hum-drum of the memorial to seek out something stronger.

Another "I'm so sorry for your loss," and I'll reply with "You're not yet, but you will be."

In the basement is an extensive wet bar. I was always surprised the idea wasn't completely abandoned by our parents considering how many times Alice and I raided the impressive liquor stash in our early teens. Instead, I'm pleasantly surprised to find  
/the room empty, and the bar completely stocked. There's a bottle of expensive, aged scotch that I'm sure my father was waiting to share with a client, but it's conveniently close and also opened. It will do. I take the back stairs towards the garage  
/and duck beneath the half-open door with the Old Peteney bottle still clutched firmly in my hand.

Outside the air feels different, charged and magnificent. My eyes focus on the warm glow of lights inside just as the sun begins to set behind me. My house is still packed with guests come to pay their respects and all of a sudden going back inside seems  
/like the last thing I want to do.

I turn away from the house quickly and tip expensive, 35 year old, single-malt scotch down my throat with the same respect that you would a five dollar bottle of vodka.

The rain has passed, leaving the air balmy and humid. My burgundy dress sticks to the sweat on my skin and my heels click and grind on the concrete, as I walk further and further away from the house.

Once I reach the edge of my neighborhood, The sky is dark, the bottle of scotch is nearly gone and I've decided to lose the heels. My ankles are blistered and burning. When my foot meets the wet pavement I sigh contentedly and then jump as a horn blares  
/unforgiving behind me.

It's especially hard to see through the blinding beam of headlights before me, but I can make out just enough to spot Jasper's unnerving, level gazebehind the steering wheel of his vintage mustang.

I make my way over to the unrolled passenger side window and stare unflinchingly back at him. This is the most I've seen of Jasper in the past three months, but I don't let my surprise or curiosity show. As if sensing the direction of my thoughts,Jaspersmiles  
a secret, crooked smile andpoints to the almost empty bottle in my hand.

"You plan on sharing, Princess?" he asks steadily. His shoulders are relaxed but his eyes are tense, as though he's working hard to keep his emotions at bay. I'm disturbed looking at the strain around his mouth and eyes, which are both pursed and shuttered.  
I'mso used to calm and collected Jasper that this wild, near out of control version of him absolutely stuns me.

He leans over and pushes the door open, his eyes still locked on mine. My head is pounding.

This feels like the longest night of my life. I want it to be over.

I wish I could just press rewind.

Re-do this entire night.

Erase what happened to Alice.

I hesitate a moment before crawling inside the car and snapping the door shut behind me. Jasper hesitates briefly as well, whether it's because he's just as surprised by my forwardness as I am or because he doesn't know what to do next, I don't know.

It seems like maybe we're both a little lost without Alice.

I take another swig from the bottle as Jasper pulls back onto the road. We stop for more (and decidedly cheaper) liquor and then drive, drive, drive. Away from all of it; away from everything.

The pavement zipping past us makes my stomach lurch so I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of the light rain picking back up, oblivious to the thick, roiling clouds overhead and the undeniable static electricity in the air.

There's a storm coming.

When the car stops, I don't even open my eyes at first. I just reach blindly for the door handle and try to stop myself from spilling onto the pavement the moment the door is opened. I can't tell if I'm going to get sick or cry or both, but once I open  
/my eyes, my stomach settles and the persistent pounding at the base of my skull is less pronounced. I peek at Jasper over the hood of his car. He looks lost in thought, his eyes staring unfocused and glossy at the unremarkable apartment building  
/in

/front of us. I've never seen him look so sad.

"I figured you would want to get out of there," He says quietly. "Your house, it was so depressing. Alice would have hated that pompous memorial."

Outraged, I stutter "you can't, that's not-" before realizing he's completely right. My stunning, bright, and hopelessly optimistic older sister would have hated that memorial.

"How drab," I imagine she would have said, "and depressing. When I die, I want a party." I try to stifle a laugh as Jasper's eyes snap to mine.

"You're right," I agree remorsefully, trying not to drown in memories of her. "Thank you." Jasper raises one dirty blonde eyebrow in question. "For getting me out of there," I explain. He nods almost imperceptibly and gestures for me to follow him up  
/the damp, exposed concrete staircase to the top floor of apartments. The air smells like rain; the wind pleasantly warm as it wisps across my exposed skin. The burgundy silk dress I'm wearing slip-slides against the tops of my thighs. I can almost  
/feel the fabric wrinkling and creasing. Alice would have had a conniption, I think. Just then, Jasper produces a key from the pocket of his black jacket and struggles to unlock the pock-marked door to his unit.

Once it's open he stands against the doorjamb and gestures me inside, reaching out for the bottle of whiskey tucked haphazardly beneath my arm. I look behind me and see him tip the bottle back with the same level of enthusiasm I had before kicking the  
/door shut behind him and continuing into a shadowed hallway. He reappears but a moment later carrying thick, red plaid flannel pajama pants and a plain, black t-shirt two sizes too big.

"You can stay here if you want, or I can drive you home, your choice," He chokes out bluntly. But the word home makes me visibly cringe and he narrows his eyes in understanding. "The bathroom is back there, first door on the left."

I follow Jasper's directions and shut the flimsy, near card-board bathroom door and quickly change into the new set of clothes he gave me. I turn the faucet on cold and splash my face before glimpsing my reflection in the mirror. My eyelashes are stuck  
/together, heavy with water, my cheeks are bright pink and warm. There's a thin sheen of sweat covering my forehead. I'm tired, drunk, and want to cry alone, but we're both too drunk to drive back.

I walk back to the living room and stand on the invisible precipice between the dimly lit hallway and the too bright living room. From my spot amongst the shadows I can see Jasper tucking a blue and orange quilted blanket into the cushions of his black  
/leather couch when I clear my throat awkwardly. He turns around startled, and then his expression turns to one of amusement as he looks me head to toe.

"No laughing," I scold as I look down at the pajama pants pooling around my ankles. Jasper holds his hands up in mock surrender, his eyes playful and bright.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he teases. Then he gestures toward the couch. "I can sleep out here. You can take the room."

I know I'm not going to be able to get any sleep in my sister's boyfriends room... it would be near impossible to relax, knowing that she once slept on that bed, in those sheets. That she and Jasper had probably... I'm too drunk and too curious for my  
/own good, so I nod blankly and let him guide me down the hallway to the last room on the left -his bedroom- under the pretense that I will sleep there.

I wonder to myself, as I stand in the doorway, if I might be able to find her in here, in the pictures or books, or the smell.

He flicks the switch on and leans against the doorjamb. Instantly, the room is illuminated by the soft, golden light of a miniature Tiffany lamp plugged into the wall. There's a sturdy oak desk tucked into the corner of the room and a simple queen sized  
/bed next to the nightstand where the lamp sits. The comforter is blue, the blankets unmade.

Finally, Jasper speaks. "If you need anything," he begins "I'll be right out there." I can tell that he says it more out of polite necessity than anything else, because halfway through his speech his eyes wander. It looks like he's already left the moment.  
/I nod respectfully even though I know he doesn't see it and wait until I hear the door click shut behind him.

Immediately I scan my surroundings, looking for any trace of my sister in this room. The walls are starkly empty. No pictures of half naked girls or sports cars here. There's two sets of beautiful, intricate, hand-carved bookshelves on the back wall,  
/filled next to overflowing with books. Most look as though they are encyclopedias of some sort. I make my way over. Textbooks about the Civil War, old western novels. Unsurprisingly I spot War and Peace, cracked open and flipped over on the nightstand.  
/But nothing even remotely Alice.

Disheartened, I quietly make my way over to the desk and open the top drawer. Nothing but post-it notes, paper clips and some uncapped ball point pens. In the second drawer there are two appointment books and not much else. The third drawer is locked.  
/I make my way over to the nightstand with the lamp on it, nearest the door and pull the drawer open.

I freeze.

There, turned upside down is a plain black plastic picture frame. I grasp it reverently and turn it over to glimpse the picture inside. My stomach drops.

It's a photograph of my sister and I. She's wearing a black and white striped skater dress and a jean jacket. She looks casual and fun, her short, inky black hair pulled back into tiny pigtails. Her cheeks are pink and full; her face glowing. She looks  
/so healthy, so very beautiful. My stomach clenches painfully.

In the picture, I'm standing next to Alice. My arm is casually wrapped around her shoulder. I'm in my navy blue cheerleading uniform and my face is unsmiling. In fact, I'm not even looking at the camera. My gaze is settled on something or someone over  
/Alice's shoulder. My thick auburn hair is a tangled, wind blown mess. My face is serious, almost stern-looking, unblemished and end of summer tan.

It's a terrible picture of myself and I laugh quickly, hollowly, unable to hold back the tidal wave of emotions that suddenly overcomes me. My laughter quickly morphs into tears and I'm crying, then sobbing, clutching at the picture frame as though it's  
/the second coming of my sister, and I can't stop, can't stop, can't stop.

God I fucking miss her.

And why did she do this to me, to us?

I want her back. I want everything to go back to the way it used to be.

But it's too late, too late, too late.

It's almost impossible to breathe now, and I'm gasping for breath, lungs heaving and heart thundering, my pulse quick as lightning, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

I don't hear the door, but I feel Jasper as he kneels beside me, on the ground, his hands coming to rest on both sides of my face. He's speaking, but I can't make out the words through the constant thrumming and whirring in my ears. I tug his arm forward,  
/turning my face into the empty space between his head and his shoulder as great, ugly, heaving sobs wrack my body. I try to breathe, try to quell the panic and the pain, but nothing is working.

I can't stop thinking about her.

I fucking miss her so much.

Jasper is shaking now too, overcome with grief so similar to mine that I'm struck by the overwhelming intensity of both of our feelings combined. His breath is hot against my cheek, my neck and I can feel the too fast thumping of his heart beneath the  
/thin cotton of his gray Henley; blood hot and heavy beneath his skin. His fingers dig painfully into my waist.

My head is dizzy, my eyes are burning and my throat feels tight but my breathing picks up as Jasper squeezes tighter, tighter, too tight.

And then suddenly it's all too much, too much, too much.

A/N: In case you were all wondering, I DIDNT DIE, I SWEAR. I've just been missing for like ten years **dodges tomatoes** I'm so sorry. :( I had a baby, moved in with her dad and have just been living life. I just recently got back into writing  
/in a big way, and thought that I should start back up with fanfiction. So, here it is, a NEW fanfiction. I know, I know, BUT ELLI MAYBE YOU SHOULD FINISH THE ONES YOU ALREADY STARTED, HMM? I will, I promise. But this story just can't wait. It's been  
/sitting in my mind for a while just waiting for me to breathe some life into it. I hope you like it just as much as I do.


	2. Death

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and it's subsequent universe.

A/N: I'd like to say that I'm going to update every week, but we'll see how that goes.

Nevertheless, here is the second chapter. I will be doing flashback chapters as well, to help move the plot and story along. HINTHINT NEXT WEEK IS A FLASHBACK CHAPTER. So, if that interests you, well, stay tuned... and review!

Song for this chapter: Little Red Lung- Fangs

Death.

Endings, beginnings, changes, transformation, transition.

There's a moment before I open my eyes, were I forget that Alice is gone, and then like a cinder block has been dropped directly on top of my chest, I remember everything in vivid, startling detail.

The events of the night before come rushing at me in glorious technicolor with the brutal, unforgiving speed of a car crash.

There's flashes of lips, tongue, teeth and flesh so pale it looks lit inside out by the light of the moon. My mouth is dry, my stomach heaves unpleasantly. Distantly, I can taste bile in the back of my throat. My hair is a tangled mess, crusted to the side of my face. I use my fingers to comb through the locks and my eyes focus immediately on the blossoming pink and purple bite-shaped bruise covering the inseam of my wrist.

I try to inhale and exhale without panicking. But my breath is coming out in short, quick gasps. I try to focus on getting my clothes and getting the fuck out of here without waking Jasper up, but it's almost impossible.

Last night plays on a loop in my head. I try not to cry, or throw up.

Or both.

I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress slowly, grateful that it's still dark outside and that the bed springs don't squawk under the redistribution of my weight. Thankfully, the room remains still and quiet. Jasper is still asleep. I don't spare him a second glance as I collect my clothes as fast as possible and jog out the door into the hallway, pulling random articles on in my haste to leave as quickly as possible. I am ready to put this house and Jasper behind me.

Pretend last night never happened.

That I didn't...

The front door is straight ahead, I can feel how close to freedom from this situation I am.

I remember bits and pieces, enough to know that I'm quite possibly the most disgusting person in the world, and am most definitely the worst sister ever. I need to regroup outside of this house, and away from _him_ because I'm almost positive that I'm still drunk and the dark direction my thoughts are taking is not helping me to get out of here and faster.

I barely make it out the front door and around the corner of Jasper's apartment before I'm throwing up. His name causes my stomach to clench painfully and my eyes to well with hot tears. My stomach heaves again, but nothing comes up.

Oh God, Oh God, I didn't, I couldn't-

"There's a bathroom inside, you know." I jump a foot in the air, and clutch at my chest while self-consciously wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. Jasper looks grim, his eyes hooded and carefully blank. All hope of him forgetting last night disappears the minute he clenches his jaw and ushers me back inside with his nostrils flared and his fingertips white against the doorknob to his apartment, his eyes dark and filled with self-loathing so desperate it's almost a tangible thing; something I could hold, cradle in the palm of my hand.

I lead us inside and stand in the entryway, uncomfortable. Slightly more sober, I take in the apartment with what feels like an entirely new pair of eyes. There's dishes overflowing in the sink, empty liquor bottles tipped over and dripping sticky onto the cheap linoleum floor. I can see specks of paper and stubbed out cigarette butts piled in a corner on the living room carpet. I want to get out of here, I need to get out of here. My hands are trembling, my knees are shaking. I want to run, run, run. Jasper walks past me into the house.

I think I might be sick again, and my stomach rolls uncomfortably. Jasper stands hunched over his broken, white plastic kitchen table-it looks more like cheap outdoor patio furniture- in the dark and takes a few deep, measured breaths. After a couple of minutes he turns around, looks at me, and runs a rough, calloused hand across his face.

"It was a mistake," he says at once, eyes _burning_ into mine.

I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Can you just take me home?" I interrupt quickly, trying to look anywhere but at him. I don't want to, don't need to hear anymore. Last night, sleeping with _Jasper_ of all people, was the biggest mistake of my life, and quite possibly a new personal low. I don't need him to tell me that. Jasper swallows thickly and nods, just once, quickly walking past me out the door. I follow him to the car and curl into the passengers side door willing as much space as possible between the two of us. The sky is starting to glow with pre-dawn light, a beautiful, crisp cerulean blue. Though the ride is somewhat short form his side of town to mine, I can feel his eyes on me every couple of minutes and it makes the journey seem that much longer.

I can just make out a smattering of fading stars against the now sea-foam sky before we get to my neighborhood and cut to the left. Finally, we near the cul-de-sac where my house is nestled between two rolling hills and a neighboring cookie-cutter mini-mansion. Jasper coasts quietly down the street, and I stop him before he gets too closer to my house. Up ahead, I can make out a slightly outdated silver Volvo parked near the curb and my parents matching Cadillacs sitting side by side in the stamped driveway.

Oh God... Edward.

I'm not just the worst sister in the history of the world, I'm also the worst fucking girlfriend. Jasper wasn't just Alice's boyfriend, he was our friend. He was Edward's best friend.

What have I done?

What am I going to do?

It's silent a moment, and then Jasper asks in a tight, controlled voice "are you going to tell him?" I don't even realize that I've spoken out loud until I look over at him. His hands on the steering wheel look like they're about to snap it in half, tight and almost white against the thin ring of metal and leather. His eyebrows are furrowed. I've never seen someone look so unnerving in quiet anger.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," I reply simply as I let myself out the door, quickly shoving it back into place. Jasper nods once again, but doesn't relax, and we're left simply staring at each other. Without a word, I turn and make my way up the patio steps to my front door.

The door opening and closing behind me is a shotgun blast. Ear splitting and gut wrenching. I imagined that being home would bring me an insurmountable amount of relief, but if anything I feel more suffocated than I did before. My throat feels tighter, my eyes stinging something fierce. On top of dealing with Alice now I have to deal with this heavy, all-consuming lie. I can't tell Edward, he's going to hate me, and I can't lose him, too.

I'm so selfish.

I just have to pretend it never happened.

Probably easier said than done.

I make my way up the staircase, the strap to my black stiletto's dangling loosely from my thin fingers, blazer hung over my shoulders. When I open my bedroom door, it's to a view so intrinsically different than Alice's bright, opulent room, that it makes me shudder. I see Edward first. His white button up is wrinkled beyond compare and unbuttoned. Beneath it is a plain, ribbed white tank. He shed his dress slacks at some point during the night because he's in only a pair of blue plaid boxers and is sprawled almost comically across my bed. The black comforter is striped with white and grey and is tangled in between his thighs. The curtains are pulled shut so that the piercing, unforgiving light of daybreak can't possibly peek through to the inside. Edward looks sugar sweet laying in my bed, half dressed and I swallow past the guilt and self-loathing and make my way over to him to shake him gently awake.

"Hey," I whisper, feather soft, "Edward, wake up." He startles and grabs my arm, confused. When he sees it's me he relaxes infinitesimally.

"Bella, where have you been? We've been worried about you." He sounds tired more than he sounds worried, but I know that he must have been and a part of me collapses inside knowing that I caused him and my parents concern.

"I just needed some time alone," I reply simply. Edward nods, taking the explanation at face value, as truth. As he should.

Because up until this point I had never had a reason to lie to him.

I think fleetingly- I should tell him.

And then, quick as a flash, the impulse is gone.

Edward raises his arm up, an invitation to crawl in bed beside him. It's then that I look at him, really look at him for the first time in probably too long. His eyes are the same deep green as the leaves on the maple trees outside my bedroom window and his cheekbones are as model sharp and hard as his jawline is. The day old stubble there is new and neat and scratches pleasingly along my hairline. I fold myself into the shell of his arms and feel the corded muscle cage me in.

I can sense the events of the previous night, and of the past four weeks weighing so heavily on my shoulders that all I want to do is shut my eyes for a while and pretend the world doesn't exist.. Almost nothing could be better than that, I'm sure.

So I do just that.

When I wake up, my room is empty but I can hear voices downstairs. A moment later, Edward knocks on the half closed door, bumping it open the rest of the way with his hip. He's carrying an ostentatious silver serving tray laden with food. I spy tea sandwiches and fresh fruit and they both instantly turn my stomach sour. He flashes me an uncomfortable smile and sits down beside me on the bed, fiddling with intricate silver filigree handles.

"Your mother made food, they want to make sure you eat."

Without thinking, I shrug him off. "I'm not hungry," I say. And then I see his face shatter.

Edward never really knew how to handle Alice's disease. Between me crying to him over my dying sister and his best friend coming to him for advice about his sick girlfriend, Edward was more often than not lost somewhere in the middle. It seemed, at times, that he simply existed for Jasper and I to find comfort in when our efforts with Alice didn't work, or even worse, went south. Edward never had to deal with Alice's illness like Jasper and I had.

We were both no strangers to Anorexia and the vicious toll that it took on someone you loved. And the people around them. Family and friends.

I backtrack as fast as possible so that Edward, seemingly always lost in translation, doesn't freak out or tell my parents that I'm turning into my sister, especially after that one therapist hinted to our mother that anorexia was genetic somehow. I pick at the food on my plate, not really hungry, when I distantly notice the bruise on my wrist. At first I skim over it, quick to write it off as some random bruise from cheerleading practice. But then I realize where it's from, or rather who it's from and I panic.

I can tell the distress is written quite plainly all over my face, because Edward appears startled for a moment. Clumsily, I grab my robe and throw it over my forearm, gathering up a few random articles of clothing as I make my way over to my bathroom. I look like a crazy person, just plucking up random pieces of clothing from each corner of my room, hoping that somewhere in this pile in my arms is a long sleeved _something_. My eyes are wide and twitchy and I try to relax, but it's like I've lost control over my own body. My brain and my limbs aren't connected any more and as a result, I'm picking up a sundress and throwing it on top of the pile before I finally give up and jog-walk back over to my bathroom door. There are clothes strewn over the divide between tile and carpet so that I have to kick them out of my way.

I'm fighting with another pile of clothes on the floor, one foot through the strap of a tank top and my hands gripping the doorjamb with impressive strength when I say in what I hope is a casual, relaxed voice "I'm going to take a shower really quick. I'll be out in a minute, Okay?" Edward nods his head, his eyes piercing and curious, trying to pick apart why I'm acting so weird all of a sudden. Instead of asking, he lifts a brow and shrugs, waiting for me to tell him when I'm ready.

And I remember all over again why I fell in love with this boy when I was 15. His open, trusting, loving nature was impossible to ignore and I fell hard and fast. Edward is my first love. He is constantly telling me that he's positive we'll be each others lasts, too. I believe that he is my soul mate whole-heatedly, with my entire being, until this very second and all the seconds after it.

So how the hell could I have slept with Jasper?

I smile reassuringly at Edward and click the bathroom door shut behind me, leaning heavily against the wood and exhaling so deeply I'm sure than I'm going to melt straight into the floor; hope for it, in fact. I take a breath and run the water so hot that the mirrors fog over straightaway. Once inside the stall, the water scalds me and I lose myself in the steam.

I realize, I'm in way over my head.

Do I go on pretending that last night never happened? Nobody will find out, but I'll know that it happened and won't the guilt be enough to make me want to confess? What if I tell Edward? What would happen? He would break up with me, I'm almost sure of it. But then Edward is the most understanding, compassionate person that I know. He might just sympathize. I mean, Jasper and I were both drunk and hurting.

I feel the warm kiss of a tear on my cheek and hold my breath. God, I don't want to cry anymore, I'm so sick of crying. It's all I do anymore.

Everything is fucking falling apart.

I feel so lost.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

There's no way that I'm going to tell Edward. I mean, what good would it do? Ease my conscience? It's not like Jasper and I even like each other. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness between the two of us. One that certainly won't be repeated. Mind made up, I take care to scrub any reminder of my infinite misgivings from my skin. I scrub until I'm pink and so tender as to be sore. I can still smell Jasper's unmistakeable scent on my skin, vanilla and leather and cigarette smoke soaked bone deep. He's in my hair and under my fingernails. I scrub until all I can smell is jasmine body wash so strong it makes my nose sting.

After I'm finished, all pink and shiny and new, I slip on a long sleeved sweater dress and a pair of silver tights. But though I can't see through the material, to the bruise that lies beneath, I still remember what I did, what we both did, and I tug the sleeves down over my wrists, trying in vein to erase Jasper from my skin.


	3. The Fool

Disclaimer: Twilight is not mine, but the plot to this story is.

The Fool

Beginnings, innocence, spontaneity, a free spirit

Naivety, foolishness, recklessness, risk-taking.

Four years ago.

"Be nice to him," She whispers conspiratorially, "I think I might just keep this one."

I narrow my eyes to slits despite my sister's warning, like the wonderful, overprotective fourteen year old that I am and watch as her boyfriend unfurls himself from the most expensive looking piece of crap that I've ever seen. She's as dressed up as I've ever seen her, in a stunning white sundress and sky high white canvas espadrilles. When the guy with the old car comes to stand next to her I can see why maybe she's considering keeping him around. He's tall, much taller than her, and handsome in an understated kind of way. His hair is tangled, beach-bum surfer blonde in the summer sun; his thin nose covered in a small smattering freckles and his mouth adorably dimpled but despite his warm glow, his eyes – a bright, beautiful blue green- are decidedly cold.

He's no Edward Cullen, but my sister and him sure do look good together. She's all smiles, slim and beautiful, with a pixie cut and a charming, graceful smile. He's tough looking, with a golden halo of waving curls that reaches his collar, a plaid flannel and a mustang.

He comes to stand next to her and doesn't acknowledge me until Alice introduces him.

"Bells," she says excitedly using my loathed nickname. "This is Jasper, my boyfriend." I smile a distracted smile, looking excitedly over his broad shoulder for Edward's moms car.

"Nice to meet you, Jason," I say hurriedly.

"Bella!" Alice chastises, glowering and outraged behind me, but Jasper is standing next to her smirking. He lays a calming hand over her forearm and after a moment she returns his smile.

"It's fine," he whispers for her only, eyes warm and gaze heated. "Nice to meet you finally, Bella," he yells over to me.

But I'm gone, gone, gone flying down the driveway and stumbling across the neighbors yard clumsily as Mrs. Cullen drives down the courtyard. She pulls up to the curb in her new, shiny silver Volvo and a second later Edward is unfolding his lanky legs from the front seat.

"Hi Esme!" I shout with a hurried wave towards Edward's mother. She waves back, smoothing a few wavy auburn strands away from her face. Her eyes are the same clear, dark forest green as her sons. And they glow warmly as she smiles genuinely at all of us our Edward's unrolled window.

"Are you sure that it's okay Edward stays for dinner?" She asks politely, worrying her lower lip in between her teeth. I brush away her concerns.

"It's no trouble at all, Mrs. C. My parents are excited to have everyone over," I lie convincingly. My mother hired a caterer for dinner and my father will probably leave before the main course is served. They're good people, me and my sister both know, but they're entirely too busy. It's a blessing that I have Alice and that she has me, otherwise I don't know were either of us would be.

The four of us reconvene in the driveway once Edward's mother pulls away from the curb, her car gliding smoothly down the street. There's small talk between the three of them. Jasper and Edward are bonding over there mutual love for Jasper's piece of shit car, and Allie is trying to look interested. I don't see the appeal. There's rust on the body, and the exhaust is gone, which means the thing had sounded like a Jet plane taking off when he parked it in the driveway. Other than that I can't say much for it. According to Edward though, the car has some serious "potential" which makes Jasper crook a smile.

"Yeah, like the potential to make our property value drop so long as it's parked in our driveway," I whisper under my breath. Alice snorts, but shoots me a stern looking glare before smacking my arm.

"Bella," she says, disapprovingly, but Jasper shushes her.

"It's fine," he says soothingly. He seems so much older than seventeen. Like he's an adult trapped in a teenagers body. It kind of makes me feel weird, so I try to avoid his eyes. "Do you know a lot about cars?" He asks. His voice seems interested, but his body language screams otherwise. His shoulders are tense, his arms crossed. He's tapping his foot impatiently and drumming his fingers against the sleeve of his button up.

"Do you care?" I ask smartly. Before either him or Alice have a chance to reply or chastise me, my mother pokes her head out the front door and hollers down to us in her most charming, suburban housewife voice. Her hair is pulled back into an elegant chignon, pearl earrings clipped neatly to her ears, an apron tied around her slim waist. She must have just gotten home from the office and picked something up on her way back. The apron is decidedly clean; wrinkles from where it was folded still visible from where we all stand in the driveway.

"Dinner's ready, kids! Time to come inside," she shouts pleasantly. I grab Edwards arm and haul him up the porch stairs, still laughing heartily, behind me.

"Damn," He chuckles, taking a breath."Your sister's new boyfriend is getting feisty Bella today, isn't he?" I smile a secret smile and face Edward, letting my sister and her boyfriend pass before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"My sister is too good for him. He doesn't deserve her." Edward laughs once again and pushes me inside the open front door.

"You're probably right, but why don't you give him a chance, Miss. Judgmental." I sigh and peek around him in to the kitchen. Jasper seems to be making more of an effort with my parents than he did with me. They seem enraptured. He shakes my dads hand and my dad claps him on the back. His scotch sloshing up the side of his cut crystal tumbler. Finally, they spot Edward and I standing in the foyer and my mother waves us over with an all encompassing smile lighting up her face.

"Edward, Bella, come in here, appetizers are out." I return her smile out of habit and make my way over to my sister. She says nothing, but she does wrap her arms around me as she rests her head on my shoulder. I'm taller than her, so I lay my head on top of hers and sigh. This guy makes her happy so I'll give him a shot. Resigned, I shake her off and pull her with me to the table.

Both Jasper and Edward sit across from us, and Alice's stunning smile all throughout first course small talk makes me smile too.

I'm so enraptured by the dynamic of my sister and her new boyfriends relationship that I can hardly pay attention to anything else. She leans close to him from across the table, her eyes gazing up at him in deep concentration, as though she's focused solely on whatever it is that he's saying. It's the first semi-adult relationship I think I've ever seen from someone that I go to school with. She's not fawning over him the way that I know me, and other girls, do Edward. But there is a deep level of adoration there. I can see it in the way that she turns her body towards his, in her unblinking gaze, and the small, unassuming smile that she has on her face. He's talking to my father about school, nothing could possibly be more boring, but Alice is entranced.

"I'm a junior." I hear him say "but I got held back a year." My father looks as though he wants to ask, but simply nods instead, his eyes glazed over as though he's not really paying attention even though he;s the one asking all of the questions.

"And what do you plan to do after graduation?" He wonders aloud without hesitation or embarrassment. Alice's cheeks turn pink.

"Dad," she hisses harshly beneath her breath.

Jasper smiles shortly and replies in his lilting southern drawl "I don't really have any solid plans. I might apprentice under my my uncle Garrett. He owns a mechanic shop just outside of town with my aunt Kate. I've always been really interested in cars." My father looks thoroughly unimpressed and I can see my mother gearing up to change the subject before Edward interrupts.

"That would be great. Then you would have somewhere to work on your restoration," Edward says into his food.

"Restoration?" My father asks curiously.

"Jasper is restoring a 1967 Shelby GT500." My fathers face remains stoic in it's impassiveness.

"Oh, that's nice," He appeases, and Edward scoffs disbelievingly.

"It's not just nice, Mr. S, that car is worth like, hundreds of thousands of dollars."

I spit Sprite out of my nose.

Jasper's expression is smug, like he knows exactly what it is that I'm thinking.

"That piece of shit in our driveway is actually worth money?"

"Isabella!" My mother screams, outraged. Even Alice looks offended at my outburst. Edward bites his lip, clearly uncomfortable.

"That piece of shit was left to me by my father," he states simply. His eyes, despite how cold they look are sparkling in amusement, so I swallow my discomfort.

"Jasper and his dad used to work on that car together on the weekends," Alice supplies, taking a long pull of water from her glass. I notice her use of the word 'used' and surmise that Jasper's dad has died or left.

But not all of us are so observant or graceful.

"Why don't you two work on the car anymore?" my father asks into his plate. His eyes are on his roast, so he doesn't see Jasper's jaw clench, or his hands clasp his drinking glass a little tighter, making the tips of his fingers white. Alice shoots him a concerned glance but he doesn't return her stare.

"He passed away last year," He replies with no emotion, his voice cold and quiet. My father's eyes snap up from his plate and he blinks once, twice, three times before speaking.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out awkwardly, the tips of his ears flushing red in embarrassment.

"I'm sure he'd be proud of it," Edward says, surprising all of us with his tactfulness. "The engine sounds spectacular." Jasper says nothing, he just continues to pick at the food on his plate, much like my sister, but he shoots Edward a small, grateful look all the same.

It's the start of a new friendship, I think mockingly.

I couldn't have been more right.


	4. The Devil

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and it's subsequent universe and characters.

Song for this chapter- Layla- Smokestacks

The Devil

Bondage, addiction, sexuality, materialism, detachment, breaking free, power reclaimed.

It starts with a dream that feels so real when I wake up I almost think I'm still asleep. I can feel, without a doubt, the warm slide of a tongue up the back of my knee and then the sharp sting of teeth on the inside of my thigh a moment later. It feels so good, too good. My hips lift off the mattress as my head snaps back but he's holding me down with his hands on my waist, his calloused fingers digging into my skin so painfully that I'm sure he's going to leave bruises.

He curses softly under his breath, his fingers fanning out and over my rib cage with an almost reverent kind of awe and gentleness. The space between my neck and shoulder is wet and the sharp kiss of his breath through his clenched jaw causes goosebumps to break out along the back of my neck and arms.

"Don't move," He hisses between grit teeth, before swearing again beneath his breath. "Fuck." My insides twist. His voice is as rough as his fingers are on my skin, and neither his voice nor his fingers, are Edwards I realize.

I awake startled, in my own bed, dripping with sweat; my heart beating so hard that it feels like it's going to break through my ribs and skin. The light outside is bright morning summer sun and I realize that I've missed the beginning of first period, at least. My parents are either both at work or didn't care to wake me up because of the memorial this past weekend, either is fine by me. I pick my phone up from my nightstand and check my messages. Of course there are two from Edward.

Where are you? Are you sick?

And, Call me when you can.

I notice that Rosalie, my best friend and a fellow cheerleader has also texted me.

Party at my house tonight, she writes. And, you better be there, bitch.

I lay back in bed and pull the covers up over my head.

Realistically, I know that just over four weeks of no school is starting to border on neglectful, and that my parents are starting to get antsy, but I just can't believe that my grieving has been broken down by a time line given to my parents by a therapist that doesn't even know me. They may be able to get back to their law offices and their clients with relative ease, but I just can't hang out with our old friends, go to all my classes and cheer practice and pretend that everything is normal again.

Nothing is fucking normal about this.

Late last night, after pushing my food around my plate at dinner and crawling back under my covers, my parents told me, in no uncertain terms, that I needed to go back this week. Back to school, back to cheer practice. They said I should invite Edward over for dinner. And for God's sake I needed to shower and clean my room or else they were going to send me to the family therapist.

Their words, not mine.

So long as I was eighteen and breathing, I would refuse to go see that psychotic shrink.

I decide to bite the bullet. They didn't say anything about excelling at any one of these tasks.

I throw on an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. Pack my school bag full of random books and notebooks, pens and pencils and grab my duffel bag stuffed with my uniform and practice clothes, heading out the front door, with my chin tucked into my chest.

I start my truck, the engine puttering to life a moment after the key is twisted in the ignition. I can hear a startling click, click, click, but decide to worry about that later. The truck blessedly, makes it to the school and I park as far away from the other cars as possible.

When I walk through the doorway, crowded over with crawling ivy and thick, roping vines, I close my eyes, steel my nerves, and immediately run into someone the moment I take a step forward.

Rosalie grabs my shoulder and spins me around to face her. My cheeks are flaming, my throat swollen so tight that I don't think I could speak if I tried. This was a bad idea. She leads me to my locker in silence and watches as I spin the lock on my navy blue locker, exchanging my duffel bag for my beat up sketch pad and pencil case. Inside is a mess of charcoal, graphite pencils and a clump of pastels halved and smeared across the interior fabric. Once I collect my things, I slam my locker door shut and turn to face my best friend.

"I didn't think you were going to show up today," She says without preamble.

"I didn't think I was going to show up either," I reply honestly, and my voice is low and gravely with misuse. She nods her head in quiet understanding.

Out of every other girl that I'd met throughout my High school career, Rosalie was the only one that I ever truly got along with. She was beautiful, brutally honest and undyingly loyal to the people close to her. If anyone were to understand the disgusting, unbelievable mess that I had made after the memorial, she would. But this was still a secret I wanted to keep to myself, still a secret that I wasn't ready to face. So content to ignore it was I, that I honestly hadn't thought about what had happened; had tried to keep it as far from my mind as possible for the past week.

That says nothing about my dreams though; what I think about when I am unconscious. I wish I could stop the dreams.

Or are they nightmares?

And suddenly, I feel his fingers on my chin, roughly forcing my jaw open as I try to fight the overwhelming urge to whimper, his eyes on me the entire time, and I try not to break down in tears right there in the hallway. Close my eyes tighter, trying to stave off the images playing against the backs of my eyelids. A horror film for my eyes only.

Definitely nightmares.

Rosalie snaps her fingers in front of my face.

"Hey," she hisses. "You okay? You totally spaced out on me there." I nod my head and run a hand across my tired face.

"Yeah, sorry," I mumble quietly. "I'm just exhausted." She raises a perfectly manicured blonde brow and her cornflower blue eyes scan my face and clothes.

"Well, you look like shit," she says without remorse. I laugh for the first time in I can't even remember how long, and throw my arms around her, breathing in her familiar scent. Wishing she had pulled me back inside as I left my house that night, instead of just raising her glass in quiet acknowledgment as I descended the stairs to the basement.

"I've missed you Rose," I whisper in her ear. She hugs me back hesitantly, gently squeezing my shoulder, unaware of my internal musings.

"I've missed you, too Hell's Bells." She says, and I can sense that she means it with her whole heart. Holding on to her like that, hearing how much she's missed me, makes me want to break down and tell her; tell her everything. The weight is crushing me, and I feel like if I don't have to bear it alone, it won't be so overwhelming and oppressive. I almost do, but something, or someone really, stops me.

"Good to see the Brat Pack is back together." Rosalie lets me go and looks behind my shoulder, but I don't have to turn around. I know that voice like it's my own, and the weight gets a little bit heavier to bear.

"Edward," Rosalie acknowledges, somewhat stonily. Their relationship is a complicated one. She's my best friend, and he is my boyfriend.

Her concealed dislike of Edward, however, stems from the beginning of our relationship, or rather the way that he treated me at the beginning of our relationship. Rosalie still resents him for the fact that he almost chose Tanya Denali over me when we were fifteen.

I'm almost certain that after four years Tanya still resents that fact, too.

I can't count how many times I've told her that it's over, he chose me, and to get over it. I guess this is just what best friends are supposed to do. God knows I did it to Alice over Jasper for almost as long.

When Edward steps around me and stands beside Rosalie I smile reflexively. It's easy to do. Edward is decidedly the most beautiful boy at our school, with his tousled bronze hair and deep, soulful moss colored eyes. He's also the best boyfriend a girl could ever ask for. He's always been there for me. He picked me up from Rosalie's house the first time I ever got drunk. I wanted to go home and ended up vomiting pink colored-cupcake frosting and watermelon flavored vodka all over his moms backseat. When I was sixteen, he took my virginity. He looked me in the eye and told me he loved me that night and we both cried happy tears. Last year, after Alice and I got into a car accident on the way home from a game and I broke my leg, he helped me carry my books to and from every class that I had even though it made him tardy so many times that the office called his parents.

He takes my chin in his hand and steps so close to me that I have to tilt my head back to see his face.

"You look tired," he says gently, smoothing some hair away from my cheek. "And way too skinny," he adds. I smile and take his wrist in my hand.

"I'm fine," I manage to reply. His eyes scan my face, searching, taking in my baggy sweatshirt and wrinkled leggings, my chapped lips and cuticles crusted over with blood, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to his side.

"Well then if you're fine," Rosalie smiles "you'll be able to make it to my party." Edward shakes his head and squeezes me tighter.

"I don't think it's such a good idea, Rosalie," He says politely, but forcefully.

"It's okay," I interrupt. "I think we should go." Edward looks down at me, his eyes curious, "My parents none too gently told me that if I don't start integrating back into society like a normal person, I'm going to have to spend some quality time with the family therapist." Rose grimaces and start walking ahead of us.

"Cold," she states. "And here I thought my parents were heartless." Edward shoots me a glance and follows behind Rosalie.

"Do you want me to pick you up?" he asks. I nod my head and burrow further into his side, as though he can protect me from what I can guess is going to be a very long, very exhausting day.

And an even more exhausting night.

I'm glad to get the stares and the whispers out of the way during the first half of the school day. That way the party won't seem so bad, later. That doesn't mean that coping with it is easy, and by the time lunch rolls around I'm about ready to run screaming from the building. Instead, I grit my teeth, buy a hot lunch and sit down at our regular lunch table. Thankfully, Rosalie has already gotten to Emmett and the rest of the team. She must have told them all to take it easy on me, because not a single girl from the cheer squad says a word to me. They just glance at me with sympathy making their eyes glaze over, fake encouraging smiles plastered to their faces.

Emmett, a friend of mine and Edward's from the football team, nods his head when he sees me, a contagious, dimpled grin lighting his face.

"Hell's Bells," he says saucily, leaning away from the rest of the football players and throwing me a wink. "Glad to see you." And that's that. I'm glad to get all of the awkwardness out of the way and to be able to drown myself in the loud, boisterous voices of the football players beside us- or the unmistakeable hush of Edward's encouraging voice in my ear. Rosalie, seeming to understand my need for space, spends the hour texting on her cellphone.

When lunch is over, Edward walks me to my class and it's the first time that we've been alone all day. All I want to do is take him home with me, lock us in my room with the blinds closed and the lights off, and sleep.

We reach the door to my classroom and he kisses me gently on my temple. His eyes are shining and hypnotizing in their beauty. I kiss him back, feeling the familiar soft skin of his mouth between my teeth as I tug at his bottom lip. He smiles, his eyes nearly closed and tucks my head underneath his chin. He holds me tight, knowing exactly what I need, like he always does. Right now, I'm not thinking of Jasper, or Alice or my parents. I'm just thinking of how lucky I am to have a boy that understands me the way that Edward does. How lucky I am that he's mine.

"I love you," I tell him sincerely. He squeezes me tighter and kisses my hair.

"I love you, too Bella," He replies. "No matter what."

And there it is, the first creeping flush of guilt and unease. Why would he say that? No matter what? Does he know what happened? There's no way that he could. Unless Jasper told him.

I never even thought of that possibility. Their friendship was something that I never really understood. Especially with Jasper being three years older than Edward. I know that Edward's dad is a neurosurgeon so he's rarely ever home. Edward looked up to Jasper as some sort of older brother figure. And I know that Jasper has always been protective of him in return. I wonder if he felt as guilty as I did and just couldn't keep it a secret anymore.

But Edward doesn't make a big deal out of his statement. Not like I do. He just licks his lips and gently kisses me again, releasing me with a small smile and a wink.

"Aren't you going to go to class?" He asks with his eyebrow raised. I nod my head, more than a little dazzled, and he walks backward, grinning, until he rounds the corner, knowing exactly what it is that he does to me. "See you tonight!" He calls out from around the row of lockers.

I swallow thickly and head inside, trying to push the crushing guilt to the back of my mind, but it's no use.

I need to tell him.

He deserves to know.

He deserves better than me. A liar. A cheater.

Mind made up, I stumble through the rest of the day, trying in vein to ignore the monumental weight laying waste to my heart.

A/N: Thank you guys for the story follows! Review and leave con/crit if you'd be so inclined. I'd love to know how all of you are finding the story. -Xoxo Elli


	5. Justice

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

Song for this chapter: Until the Ribbon Breaks- Pressure

Natalie Taylor- Come to This

Justice- fairness, truth, the Law.

When we pull up to Rosalie's simple, charming yellow bungalow, the lawn is littered with classmates, a cluster of familiar townies and red plastic cups. Edward jogs around to my side of the car and clicks the car door open, offering me his hand a moment later. Outside, I can hear the bass-heavy thump, thump, thump from the stereo in the backyard. The ground vibrates dully beneath my sneaker clad feet.

I Can feel a headache coming on, and immediately regret the decision to leave my house.

Edward takes my elbow in his hand, his fingers gentle and loose. Seeming to understand my shift in mood and the unmistakeable grimace on my face, he drops his shoulders.

"We don't have to do this," He soothes, his voice a balm for my frazzled nerves.

I shake my head and heave a world weary sigh. "I'll be fine," I intone with as much false enthusiasm as I can muster. "I promise."

Edward stays beside me, my elbow still gripped in-between his long, elegant fingers. His face is carefully neutral. A moment later, he nods, dropping his hand and gesturing for me to lead the way. I walk, shoulders hunched, over the rain-flattened grass, the blades tickling my bare ankles, until we reach the door. Once inside, I straighten my spine and pin a fake, blinding cheer-captain smile on my face. Immediately, Edward and I are greeted by a boisterous and decidedly drunk Rosalie.

She's dressed boldly in a silver and gold sequined top, a pair of black skinny jeans and heels. It's a little over the top for a High School party, but it looks good on her. Rosalie certainly knows it as she flashes a bright, brazen smile at Emmett, trying to play coy, and rushes Edward and I into the kitchen. The kitchen table and counters are littered with a bright assortment of different colored liquor bottles. Next to the door to the garage is a set of kegs. Edward gestures to it and tugs on the end of my hoodie string. "Do you want a beer?" He yells over the music. I nod my head and he retreats to give Rosalie and I some privacy so we can catch up.

"I am hammered," She blurts once Edward is barely out of ear-shot, and then she asks with a raised brow and a smirk "why were you two so late?"

"I couldn't decide what to wear," I reply. She appraises my outfit choice, a pair of cut-off shorts and a Forks High cheer hoodie with narrowed eyes and thin lips. Her eyes snap to mine, and I'm blushing, trying in vein to hide a smile.

"Yeah," she deadpans, "I'm sure that was it." We both laugh and then suddenly, Rosalie stops, eyes wide. She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. "Oh my God, Bells you would not believe who actually showed up tonight," She shouts dimly over the music. I can spot Edward making his way back over to us, a red plastic cups in each hand.

"Who?" he asks, handing me my cup. He puts his fingers against the small of my back and pulls me closer to him. Rosalie scowls and Edward returns the look. Annoyed, she turns to me and whispers dramatically "Jasper Whitlock." She says something else but I can't hear her because suddenly my ears are ringing.

Fuck, he's here.

How am I going to tell Edward now?

What the hell do I do?

This shouldn't be weird. Rosalie's older brother Peter and Peter's girlfriend Charlotte are very close to Jasper. Besides Edward, they seem to be Jasper's only friends. It shouldn't be weird, and yet it is. I've made things weird. This is all my fault.

I don't even stop to think about how odd it looks, I simply chug the rest of my beer, walk to the island and pour myself a double shot of tequila, not stopping for breath before I toss it down my throat. I'm pouring myself another one when I feel Rosalie's hand on my shoulder.

"He's kind of drunk and not really talking to anyone. Peter's worried," and you can hear that she's worried too. Her voice is low, her eyes wide and skittish. "Maybe it would be nice for the both of you to go say something to him. He's ignoring Peter and Charlotte, and him and I were never close. Edward," she says, narrowing her eyes "he's your best friend, maybe you should go talk to him." Edward lowers his face and sighs tiredly. Jasper is a sore-subject for him. After Alice died, Edward reached out every day for almost three weeks before realizing that he needed to give Jasper some space.

"I don't see what my talking to him will do." I confess coldly. Rosalie tilts her head and her eyebrows scrunch as they come together.

"I'm confused," she says, "'You and Jasper used to kind of be friends, too. Used to drive your sister crazy if I remember correctly. Which I do."

Edward looks just as confused. "Come on, Bella, he's our friend." I throw back another shot, this one burning something awful once it hits the back of my throat and I try to suppress the urge to cough or gag. Edward curls his hand into my hip, intent on bringing me along. "Where is he?" Edward asks intently. Rosalie gestures past us with a bangle covered forearm to the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard.

"He's on the deck, out back," She supplies helpfully, and Edward uses his arm around my waist and my poor balance to lead me out back. He looks like he's gearing up for a fight when I glimpse him out of the corner of my eye. In reality, Edward is just gearing up emotionally to confront his broken, best friend.

I squirm out from underneath his arm, trying unsuccessfully to tug him back into the kitchen. He just drags me behind him, shushing my protests. My hands wander and I try tugging him by the back of his white t-shirt, try to delay this reunion for reasons I don't even entirely understand yet.

I'm not ready for this.

None of us are. Edward, Jasper, me...

We're not ready for this.

"Edward-" I call after him, but it's too late. Edward stops short at the sight of Jasper sprawled out on one of Rosalie's lounge chairs. A teal baseball cap covers his face, His long legs stretched out, feet dangling over the edge of the lounger. His blonde curls are snarled and sweaty, sticking to his head. He's wearing a Seattle Mariners hoodie and cargo shorts with navy blue converse. Next to him is an ashtray overflowing with half-stubbed out cigarettes atop a table laden with empty, red plastic cups. He reeks of alcohol, weed, and stale cigarette smoke.

"Jesus Christ," Edward swears quietly. Rosalie lets out a low whistle behind us.

"Okay, she concedes "he's a little more than drunk." Edward reaches over to shake Jasper awake, but before his fingers make contact, Jasper's arm shoots out and he catches Edward's wrist, shoving his hand away from him. He removes his baseball cap slowly, settling it backwards on his head, and I'm immediately startled by the thick purple shadows pressed around his eye sockets. He looks tired, thin, almost ill. He looks how I feel.

His eyes skim over everyone, finally coming to rest on me.

"Well, well, well," He drawls. His accent is thick with sleep, his voice low and husky. I try not to remember that I've heard his voice rasping and gruff from sleep before. "Look who's here," he bristles. "Forks High's cutest couple. What can I do for you two?" Edward's brows furrow in confusion over Jasper's acerbic, unwarranted attitude but I'm instantly wary; immediately on edge.

My sister dies and he's allowed to mourn longer than I am? He can wallow and drink through his feelings, but my parents threaten me with therapy?

Life is not fucking fair.

Edward runs his fingers through his hair and glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

"We came to see how you were doing, Jasper. We haven't heard from you in a while." Edward pauses and bites his lip, his eyes narrowed. "How are you?"

Jasper raises a brow. "Why don't you ask your girlfriend?" he slurs, eyes hooded and glassy. Edward turns to me slowly and I try to school my features, try to slow my breathing so that I don't give anything away.

"Bella," Edward questions, more confused than suspicious.

I shrug my shoulders, trying to look unperturbed. "I don't know what he's talking about Edward," I say only slightly shaky "he's drunk. Ignore him."

Jasper's eyes lift to mine and suddenly he seems undeniably sober.

"Meant nothing by it," Jasper finally says to the silence "just drunk off my ass," he says by way of explanation. "Sorry darlin', he addresses me, his smirk radiating confidence and false niceties.

The tequila in my system emboldens me and I find myself leaning over the foot of the lounger, pointing a finger in Jasper's amused face.

"You're being a drama queen," I say coldly. "Give it enough time. Eventually everyone is going to see you for what you really are," Jasper laughs, but it's harsh and without humor.

"And what is that?" He questions mockingly.

"A mopey little boy who will never get over his dead ex-girlfriend." I can't believe I've said it, but it feels good to get it off my chest. The words feel palpable, tangible, like I've just delivered a physical blow. I can feel Jasper's dark amusement fading quickly to a quick-simmering rage. His mouth lifts from a smirk to a sneer. And I'm ready to scream; ready to fight.

"Bella," Edward warns.

"No!" I shout, overwhelmed. "It must be nice to be able to drink away and ignore all of your problems," I spit acidly. "I wish I could chug whiskey until I forgot that Alice was gone, but I can't." My eyes fog over with tears until Jasper is just a multicolored blur in front of me. "That shit," I say pointing to the clumsy stack of red solo cups pitching over the side of the table, "Is not going to make things better. It's not going to help you forget. Knock it off, before you do something you regret." Jasper's eyes narrow and we both know I'm not just talking about Alice anymore.

"You think I'm ignoring all of my problems, do you?" He snaps back quickly, jaw tight and nostrils flared.

"Well you sure as hell are ignoring all your friends. Edward has been worried sick about you, and you completely shut him out!"

Edward groans loudly behind me. And I hear Rosalie whisper "it's been a while since I've seen this," beneath her breath, like she's used to us arguing. _Debating,_ Jasper used to call it, to appease my sister. "We're not arguing," he would say "We're debating."

"Well, what do you think I should do, Princess? Confront my problems? Confront my friends? Get it all out there in the open?" He intones with a messy, tipsy smirk. His eyes dark and cold. I've known Jasper for four years, so I know that look intrinsically.

He wouldn't. But he could. He might. Jasper is nothing if not a wild-card.

"No," I say slowly, trying to avert a catastrophe. "That's not-"

"Save it." He growls darkly. And my lips thin as I press them together.

Maybe it's not that Jasper doesn't want to reach out to Edward. Maybe he can't. He feels guilty like me so he's distancing himself, that way he doesn't have to pretend every day. Not like I do. Jasper's girlfriend died and I cost him one of his best friends. And now I'm trying to get them to go back to the way that things where, pretend nothing ever happened. Maybe it's hard for Jasper to do that. At least, harder for him than it might be for me. What does that say about my awful personality? That I can pretend something that bad never even happened in the first place. I'm once again rendered speechless at what an utterly despicable human being I am.

Jasper turns slowly to Edward, having made up his mind, his eyes decidedly empty and hard. "What I meant when I said that earlier," he says slowly, like he's talking to a toddler; someone who might not totally understand what he's trying to say, and his voice is like _ice_ "is that your girlfriend is likely to know how I've been, considering she was with me the night of Alice's memorial." I hear Rosalie's sharp intake of breath a moment later, and still, I haven't processed what the fuck has just happened. Edward is absolutely silent and still behind me. My ears are ringing, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel goosebumps break out along my arms and the back of my neck. Suddenly, Jasper looks up at me, his eyes apologetic, guilty, and still so very, very cold.

Everything implodes.

"How does he mean-" Edward begins to ask me, lips thin and face pale.

"I mean," Jasper interrupts, sounding petulant and bored, eyes still glued to mine "that she was with me, at my house, in my bed the night of Alice's memorial. The night I'm sure you spent waiting for her to come home."

"Jasper," I implore, heart catching in my chest. " _Stop_." My throat is tight, my voice thick with unshed tears.

"Is he telling the truth?" Edward asks behind me, deadly calm.

Before I can answer, Jasper snorts and unfolds his long legs from the lounge chair, standing tall and imposing in front of me. My eyes are glued to the navy blue of his sweater and his eyes, in turn, are locked on Edward.

"Do you seriously think I wouldn't take a shot if I had one?" He asks disbelievingly, bitterness coloring his voice, and I flush out of embarrassment.

"You promised," Edward says calmly. Jasper's shoulders sag under the weight of Edwards words. I turn to Edward my eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Promised what?"

He spares me a sidelong glance and ignores my question. Rosalie grabs me by my elbow after a long, tense moment and hauls me out from in between the two.

"You knew?" She asks Edward suddenly, her voice hard and laced with barely concelead malice. "You knew all along and you, what? Ignored it? Hoped it would go away?"

Edward rolls his eyes. "Of course not, but he's my best friend for fucks sake, what was I supposed to do?"

"I'm right here," Jasper reminds them coldly staring hard at Rose, "and how the fuck do you even know what we're talking about, Rosalie?" he hisses. Just then Peter walks up, Charlotte tucked beneath his arm. He's dressed similarly to Jasper, which is what makes Charlotte in her tiny red sundress look all the more endearing next to him. For a moment, it's like I'm transported back in time, and I see Allie tucked similarly beneath Jasper's arm. But as quick as the image is there, it disappears and I'm left staring at Peter's thick strands of straight, dark hair, so dissimilar to Jasper's dirty blonde curls, are brushed casually off his forehead. He's not smiling; in fact, his eyes are sharp, the same cornflower blue as his little sister.

"Of course," Jasper whispers angrily beneath his breath."Peter told you."

"Little Bells," Peter acknowledges me. But I ignore him, intent on trying to figure out just what the fuck everyone is hiding.

"Edward, Jasper, if you two are planning on working out some of your pent-up anger, could you do it elsewhere?" He smiles wide and deep, but his voice is unmistakeably authoritative. "Mom just re-stained the deck." Edward shakes his head, his eyes downcast, shoulders sagging.

"I'm leaving," He confesses shortly, and turns around towards the door.

"Wait, Edward!" I call after him, following him through the house. "Edward!" He ignores me as I stumble after him, eyes wet and burning, cheeks flaming and lungs tight.

"What do you want, Isabella?" he sighs, exasperated and I rear back as if I were physically slapped.

"I'm sorry," I say brokenly, my voice low and miserable. "You have to know that." He shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair.

"Did you sleep with him?" I swallow thickly and close my eyes. Wishing I could be anywhere else. "Answer me!" He shouts, but his voice is hollow and resigned, like he already knows the answer. "Did you sleep with him?" he asks again, voice full of anguish.

I'm sobbing, and have to take a deep breath before answering.

"Yes," I say, ashamed, voice so quiet as to be inaudible. "I'm so sorry." Edward leans back against his car door, silent as I make my way over to him.

"It was a mistake," I plead. "I wish I could take it back. I was drunk, and things got out of hand." Edward grimaces and looks away. His eyes screwed shut. "I wish it never happened. I wish I could take it back. I would give anything to take it back" I say finally, quietly, tears streaming down my face. "I love you." Edward swallows and I can see his Adam's apple bob. Suddenly, he folds me into his arms, his chin coming to rest on the top of my head.

"I'm," he tries to speak but his voice cracks with emotion. "I understand," he says. "I'm not angry with you. I'm hurt." I nod and rub my tear-stained cheek against his shirt.

"I know, I know I hurt you and I'm so sorry. Please, please," I beg "don't hate me."

Edward shakes his head and squeezes my shoulder.

"I could never hate you, Bella," He says, and I can hear that he's crying and trying to hide it.

"I know that this has been tough for you," he explains. "Losing Alice," he pauses; clears his throat. "Losing Alice, I can't even imagine losing someone that close to me. And I will always be here for you if you need me." I back out of his arms, sensing a 'but' that I really don't want to hear, but wholly deserve. "I just need some space," Edward finishes simply eyes red and glassy.

"Oh God," I whimper, tears steadily streaming down my face. "I'm so sorry."

"I know you are, I believe you," he says sincerely. "Jasper is almost twenty three years old. He should have known better than to take advantage of you. " I refrain from telling him that I was so drunk I can't remember who exactly took advantage of whom that night. Instead, I swallow my tears, and try to keep my heart from beating out of my chest.

"I don't know how to deal with this," he supplies lamely "I just know that I need some space. Away from all of this. I know that Alice and I were never close but I've been there for you and Jasper the entire time she was sick, and I just can't even-" He swears softly beneath his breath. "Shit, I can't process this. I can't handle this right now."

I nod in understanding and Edward opens the car door, glancing over his shoulder quickly. "Do you need a ride home?" He asks politely. I laugh forlornly, and wipe the tears from my cheeks.

"Ever the gentleman," I say and Edward cracks a small, quick smile. "No, I'll just crash at Rosalie's tonight. You don't need to drive me home, after-" I trail off. Edward nods, jaw tense.

"I still love you, you know that, right?" He says. And maybe it's because I really am sorry. Maybe it's because we've been together since we were fifteen years old. Have been friends for even longer. I know Edward could never stop loving me, just like I could never stop loving him. But what we used to have is gone. I've completely ruined that. "I'm just disappointed. I can't believe you would do this to us." I nod my head, eyes quickly welling again with tears. "I need some time away from you." I swallow, trying not to let them show. "I need time away from Jasper, too." He gestures back towards the house and I rub my hand tiredly over my face. It comes away wet with tears and snot.

Fuck, I've ruined everything.

"I'll see you around," Edward whispers, the coldest goodbye we've ever shared, before shutting the car door and speeding down the street. And my heart splinters, shatters into a million tiny, fractured pieces, as I make my way back inside, shoulders hunched; my soul unmistakeably crushed.


	6. The Sun

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

A/N: I know that the character development/ plot seems really messy right now. I promise that I'm working on cleaning it up. Stay with me here, folks, it will be worth it. Also, thank you guys so much for the kind reviews!

Song for this chapter- Majical Cloudz- Downtown

The Sun- fun, warmth, positivity, vitality

Twenty months ago.

I hear him before I see him, and my heart thunders in my chest. His voice is deeper than it once was, smooth as velvet; lilting and musical.

"What are you guys doing?" He asks tone curious and authoritative. He's not used to the way that his new voice sounds quite yet. When I turn around, face smeared with oil, Edward smiles blindingly, coming to stand just inches away from me. He stretches  
/his thumb out, deftly smoothing the oil away, or making it worse, I can't tell. His eyes are bright and green, the color of moss and trees and leaves. His face is thinner, cheekbones and jaw more pronounced. He no longer looks like a little boy, or  
/even a teenager anymore. At almost sixteen years old, Edward looks more like a man than I could have ever imagined.

I like it.

"Jasper is teaching me how to change my oil." I hear Jasper snort behind me and frown, rolling my eyes and wiping the sweat from my brow.

"Trying to teach her," Jasper says suddenly, coming to stand beside me. His hands are coated in the same oil, his forearms tan and riddled with blue-green veins seemingly as thick as a shoelace. Jasper is someone I could never imagine looking like a boy  
/or even a teenager. He's looked like a man since the moment I met him almost two years ago.

"I just can't believe you guys are getting along," Edward smiles disbelievingly, a single eyebrow raised.

"Barely," Jasper mutters beneath his breath and I roll my eyes again.

"Allie is inside, she fell asleep again." I can see Jasper's eyebrows furrow, this time with concern for my sister. She's been tired and irritable lately. Every time her and I hang out she has to stop to rest or take a nap, unenthusiastic and bored as  
/she seems. I can't believe that she has to take breaks in between pretending to be interested in whatever it is that her and I may be doing. This time, after practically having to drag my shopaholic sister through the mall (three stores, really) She  
/said she wanted to stop by Jasper's to say hi and visit. After sitting in the car for a half an hour, Jasper opens the door, lights a cigarette, and visibly startles once he catches site of me in the car.

"Your sister is in the house," he says confused. I nod my head slowly. Like, I already know this. I knew this. I'm waiting.

"She's sleeping," he deadpans.

You've got to be kidding me.

I stay in the car. Content to just wait for Alice, until Jasper stubs out his cigarette.

"Come on," he says. "You're almost sixteen. Do you have your own car?" I nod my head slowly. An ancient pickup truck that drives my parents crazy, but that I purchased all on my own. The thing is like my child. Bonus points because it's a stick shift  
/that I've yet to learn how to drive.

Jasper gestures to the hunk of metal sheltered beneath a rusting carport. "You should know how to change your own oil," he says simply. And that's that. I watch as Jasper drains the oil into a plastic saucepan looking contraption. His hands filthy, nail  
/beds stained black. I watch him tuck an oil filter into the engine, somewhere, I can't see well enough over his broad shoulders. He explains in brief, clipped sentences.

I ask a million questions. He answers every single one with a gruff, irritated voice.

Jasper nods his head towards Edward. "Get over here," he says roughly. "You should know how to do this, too."

And so he teaches the both of us how to change our oil.

Almost an hour later, Alice wakes up.

"God, Bella, I am so sorry!" she immediately apologizes after crashing through the front door of Jasper's apartment, eyes wide and frantic.

She looks much better, well rested, bright eyed and stunning in a simple yellow cotton sundress. Her short hair is curled towards her on one side, and sticking out on the other, her skin pale and unblemished. Jasper smiles a small smile as he glimpses  
/her on her tiptoes, hands gripping the balcony railing, shouting down at us. She looks so small way up there. I wave her off, trying to stay mad and finding it impossible. Alice tends to have that effect on people. She glides gracefully, excitedly  
/down the stairs and peeks over Jasper's shoulder.

"Still working on that hunk of metal, huh?" She teases. Jasper smirks and cranks some tool that slink clink clinks as he spins it with ease.

"More like hunk of junk," I reply unhelpfully. Jasper growls low in his throat, and I smirk conspiratorially.

"This is not a hunk of junk," he returns.

"Whatever you say." He looks at me from beneath the hood of the car, his eyes teasing and kind. It's the warmest I've ever seen Jasper look in the almost two years that I've known him. My sister is beaming behind him.

Suddenly Edward walks over and nudges my shoulder with his. "Wanna go take the car to get ice cream? My mom offered to take us." I nod my head shyly, tucking a wayward strand of mahogany hair behind my ear.

And then my sister yells "We can all go! I feel so bad about ditching you earlier, Bells!" I wanna growl at her, shove her and Jasper inside, and far, far, far away from us. Maybe then Edward and I could grab ice cream alone, and it could be considered  
/a... but no, we only have our permits. A supervised first date? No thank you. And besides, Edward wants Tanya Denali. Not me.

The light is fading from the sky, the air warm and breezy, ghosting across my skin like a gentle caress as we drive towards the tiny ice cream stand on the outskirts of town. Alice and I are crammed together in the backseat of Allie'sfancy go-cart,  
/which also happens to be a stick shift-shoulders hunched close, chins tucked down-trying not to laugh at the scene unfolding in front of us. Jasper is running a hand through his wild hair, to keep himself from clenching and unclenching

his fists, I suppose. He's trying to teach Edward how to drivemanual but they're not making a lot of headway.

"Be gentle, ease off the clutch as you step on the gas. No! Don't gun it!" And then the car stalls and Alice and I can't hold back our chuckles anymore. Edward appears nervous and frazzled and Jasper looks like he's ready to explode. After only a few  
/more frustrated moments, he kicks Edward out of the driver's seat and takes over. "Here," he says exasperated, "watch how I do it."

I find myself peeking over the driver's seat, eyes glued to Jasper as though in a trance. His legs moving forward and backward, pressing invisible pedals that I can't see, his arm twisting the gearshift with practiced ease. I watch until I memorize the  
/precise movements.

I've always wanted to learn how to drive a stick, and pretty soon I'm going to have to know how if I want to pass my driver's test.

After I've damn near imprinted the process in my brain, we arrive at the small, dilapidated ice cream stand. The roof shingles are supposed to be orange but most are brown after years of harsh winters. The canopy overhead is a bright, outrageous shade  
/of teal that clashes horribly with the rest of the decor, but the soft serve is the best around. I order a twist, as does Jasper, and Edward orders vanilla waffle cone.

"Boring," I sing-song under my breath. Edward laughs and leads me to a table, pulling the chair out for me without even realizing. I try to hide my smile, but fail miserably. My sister sits beside us with a large water and a small vanilla cone that she  
/doesn't touch. She's too ensconced in Jasper to pay much attention to her ice cream, and eventually both of their cones lay forgotten; melted down to puddles on swollen, sugarsoaked brown paper napkins.

Suddenly, I hear a loud, obnoxious laugh, like nails grating on a chalkboard. I look over and see Tanya Denali seated backwards on a chair, trying in vein to lick the melted vanilla ice cream from the side of her strawberry dipped cone. Her face is tanned  
/and unblemished, her shirt much too small. I can see her stomach and the tanned, toned smoothness of her legs from my seat. Edward tries not to make a big deal about it, I can tell, but eventually, after staring unabashedly for far too long, he makes  
/an excuse and wanders awkwardly over to her table. I try not to let my emotions show, try to act as though it doesn't affect me, but Alice knows me better than that.

"Fuck this," She says suddenly, loudly, as she pitches up from her seat. Jasper grabs her arm, eyes wide and swings her back down into her chair.

"What are you going to do?" He asks, not without humor. "Are you going to beat her up?" Alice snorts and pushes a wayward strand of inky, jet black hair off her forehead.

"If I must," she says haughtily. Jasper laughs, the sound startling and warm. And Alice smiles in return. They both look at me.

"You okay?" Alice asks with concern clouding her eyes. "He's an asshole, and he doesn't deserve you." She soothes, her nose pointed primly in the air, looking for all the world like the spoiled aristocrat she is.

"He's not an asshole," I repeat miserably. "She's just beautiful. Every boy at school wants to date her." Jasper raises a disbelieving blonde brow.

"You mean every boy at school wants to fuck her."

"Jasper!" My sister yells, outraged, and more than little amused.

"What?" he asks innocently, and then he turns to me. "I wouldn't touch that girl with a ten foot pole," he says, his mouth a thin line. I smile despite myself, and Alice grins in return.

"She's got nothing on you, little sister," Alice says sincerely, and I try not to cry, try to pretend that it's not that big a deal, but I can feel my heart shriveling inside my chest. I look over to see Edward awkwardly trying to chat Tanya up. She twists  
/a long, wavy strand of strawberry blonde hair around a perfectly manicured finger and lays her opposite hand on his forearm.

They're flirting, I realize.

"You just have to let him know you're interested," Jasper says unhelpfully.

"And how do I do that?" Alice puts a hand over her mouth trying to suppress a giggle.

"Nope," Jasper confesses loudly, his voice resigned and his eyes wide and slightly terrified. "I'm out, Alice, you take this one."

"Just tell him, babe," she says. "Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Or just kiss him."

"Kiss him?" I ask skeptically.

"Oh yeah," Alice says simply "He'll totally dig it."

I roll my eyes. These guys clearly don't know me or Edward at all. And besides, there's no way that I could possibly compete with Tanya Denali. I sneak another peek at her table. She's leaning precariously over the edge of her seat, the top of her shirt  
/unbuttoned just so, her head tilted provocatively to the side. I couldn't possibly... compete with that. I wouldn't even know where to start. Jasper's eyes are on her table, too, but I can't tell what he's thinking.

Suddenly his eyes swivel to mine. His gaze softens, and he clears his throat.

"Tanya Denali doesn't have shit on you." He says.

And that's that.

After Jasper drops Edward and I back off at my house, after he backs out of the driveway and Alice makes her way up the porch steps and into the house, I bite my lip and I do it.

I kiss him.

Because Tanya Denali doesn't have shit on me.

His lips are warm and soft on mine, and they're only there a moment before he's pulling away, eyes bright and wide and confused. He sucks his lower lip in between his teeth, his cheeks flaming pink. I try not to smile.

"What was that?" He asks dazedly.

"I like you," I say simply.

"I like you, too Bella, but-"

"No," I interrupt "I _like_ you, like you." Edward's eyes grow even wider and my stomach drops.

Shit, shit I made a mistake.

Tanya Denali doesn't have shit on me? What the hell was I thinking? Jasper is crazy, certifiable-

And then Edward kisses me back.

His lips are warm and wet and clumsy on mine. He grabs my cheek pulling me impossibly close until I feel like I'm practically melting into his chest. Still, he doesn't stop. I feel his tongue against the seam of my lips and I gasp out of surprise and  
/then suddenly his tongue is in my mouth, hot and insistent and and I'm kissing Edward Cullen. Really kissing him. His hand wanders from my face to my side and then drops down to my waist where he squeezes gently. I back away panting, eyes still closed,  
/face fire-engine red. Edward rests his forehead on mine and stutters out a few shaky breaths.

"That, that was-" he starts, mouth open in an 'o' of surprise.

"It was okay, right?" I ask timidly, all of my earlier confidence seeping out of me. Edward scoffs quietly.

"It was more than alright," he whispers, his lips ghosting over mine. "It was perfect."

And then his mouth, once again, finds mine.


	7. Tower

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.

A/N: So, I've worked out the chapter outlines for this whole fic, and let me tell you, we're in for a long one folks (; Also, I don't want to give too much away... Some of you were asking if this will be an Edward/Bella pairing or a Jasper/ Bella pairing. I can't say without giving away the ending. Just know you won't be disappointed. Also, this story will be split into FIVE parts. You'll see why.

This one is a short one, however it is vital in setting up the rest of the story.

Song for this chapter: TV on the Radio: Wolf Like Me

Tower- Disaster, upheaval, sudden change, revelation, avoidance of disaster, fear of change.

Chapter 7

I watch Edward drive away with reluctant resignation, shoulders sagging in defeat the farther he drives away from Rosalie's house.

It's inescapable: the thought that I've ruined everything.

That I, Bella Swan, destroy everything I touch.

Alice would _hate_ me.

My skin feels tight; flesh pulled across brittle bone, blood and sinew. My face is so swollen that I can barely see, can barely breathe. My lips are chapped, my hands shaking, my heart thudding painfully hard against my ribs.

Holy shit, I think, I'm going to crack; just split wide open, right down the middle.

What the hell just happened?

"Oh my God," I hear a throaty, feminine voice startlingly close to my ear. I jump, one hand flying to my chest, the other discreetly trying to wipe the tears and snot away from my face.

"Tell me that didn't just happen," Tanya laughs, her expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"God," I moan, voice low. This night literally could not get any worse. "Fuck off, Tanya."

I turn away, trying in vein to ignore her mocking voice trailing behind me.

"You mean to tell me Edward is single? Way to go, Bella," she laughs. "I just knew you'd fuck that up eventually. It sure took you long enough."

When I reach the porch, I glimpse Rosalie standing in the doorway, her silhouette illuminated by the golden, glowing light spilling from inside. Her arms are folded across her chest, her face stern, eyes cold.

"Tanya, get the fuck out." She points down the street with a no-nonsense look on her face.

But Tanya doesn't care, she just laughs again and gestures to her group of friends standing on the lawn.

"Oh don't worry," she says with an ambitious smirk on her face. "We were just leaving." And then she turns to me, her eyes bright and focused. "I think I'll go check on Edward," she mocks, voice full of mischief. "I'm sure he'll be needing a shoulder to cry on, isn't that right Bella?" My stomach flips, because I know she means it. And then I think, what the hell can I _do_ about it? I can't do anything. Edward's not mine anymore. I lost the right to call him mine the minute I fucked his best friend.

What have I _done_?

Tanya smiles, her voice is acid and her eyes venom. Her teeth are bright white, blinding and sincere in their maliciousness against her dark, blood red lipstick.

From the corner of my eye, I see Rosalie take a threatening step forward. Tanya jumps back in genuine surprise and then she laughs and the sound is dark, dark, dark.

"Don't worry," she appeases, eyes still locked on mine. "We're leaving." She bows, eyes wild and amused. "Bella," she inclines her head "always a pleasure." I roll my eyes, mouth set in a harsh, grim line. Finally, she turns, making her way across the front yard with quick, measured steps, the heels of her shoes barely sinking into the ground. Her shoulders are pulled back, her chin held high.

God I _hate_ that bitch.

I turn and stalk up the stairs, my eyes zeroed in on the back of the house, glued to the entry way to the kitchen like I posses some sort of laser vision. Like I can strip away the people and the garbage and the structure of the house to see through to the outside.

And I'm angry.

No, I'm fucking furious.

"Bella," Rosalie scolds, "What the hell is going on? And what the hell happened with Jasper and Edward back there?" Her voice is high and nervous, like she's already afraid that she knows the answer. I don't know, I don't care. I couldn't even explain if I wanted to. I can barely swallow past the bile coalescing at the base of my throat.

But my blood is thrumming, hot and heavy in my veins and my skin feels like it's being stretched impossibly tighter over my bones.

And the anger is breaking, morphing into something dark and ugly and twisted inside my chest. I swell with it.

"Bella," Rosalie whispers, following closely behind me as I push past her into the house. I clumsily stumble my way through the throng of people dancing together in the packed living room and make my way to the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Rosalie finally asks, exasperated. She pushes past people intent on following me as I make my way through the kitchen. Finally, I spot it. Rosalie seems to notice it the minute that I do. Her voice is a warning, calm yet forceful, like she's scolding a toddler. "Hells Bells," She says, "you don't want to do this."

But she's so wrong.

I want to do this.

I need to do this.

I shuck the sliding glass door to the side, the plexiglass plane bouncing on it's track as it hits the wall, and I pitch forward through the empty space.

Jasper is standing next to the deck railing, a lit cigarette clenched between his teeth.

He doesn't see me until it's too late.

I rip the cigarette from his mouth and toss it over the edge of the deck. His smile drops, his eyes going flat and cold almost immediately. Other than that he doesn't look upset; doesn't look as though he's just uprooted my entire universe.

Fucking bastard.

I bring my hand up sharp and quick and yelp when Jasper catches my wrist mere inches from his face.

"I don't think so," He scolds, finally looking down at me, eyes drilling into mine.

"You-" I cry "Why would you do that to me? Do you hate me that much?" I don't want to, and am embarrassed when tears spring to my eyes. Jasper has the decency to look guilty for a moment before hardening his features once more.

"People are starting to stare," he says, voice empty of inflection. My eyes wander, and he's right. The party has by no means stopped, but we've attracted a fair amount of attention.

God everyone at school is going to know what a horrible person I am.

And it's all his fault.

"Let's take this elsewhere, shall we?" Jasper asks, and without waiting for an answer, he stalks inside and through the kitchen. Rosalie is as lost as anyone could be, but she follows beside me as Jasper makes his way up the stairs, into the hallway.

He stops just outside of Peter's old room and opens the door, gesturing for me to go ahead of him. I look behind me, at Rosalie's face, her features morphing into one of understanding and realization. She knows. Not all of the details but enough to work out what's happened. She raises a brow and nods her head.

"I'll be right here when you're done." And it's both a reassurance and a promise.

We will talk about this, she's saying.

You will explain.

I swallow tightly and walk around Jasper into the room.

Inside, there is a maze of boxes and clothes still hung on hangers. Peter is still in the process of moving his things out and into the house he's just bought with Charlotte. The thought makes me smile but then I remember where I am and with whom, and the smile vanishes immediately.

"You wanted to yell," Jasper flourishes his hand. "Start yelling"

Instead, I cry. Jasper is certainly not expecting that, and he takes a hesitant step forward, arm outstretched as though he's trying not to spook a wild animal.

"I'm sorry," he says slowly as though he's tasting how the words feel on his tongue for the first time. It sounds more like a question than an apology.

"No," I interrupt shortly, voice thick with tears."You don't get to apologize. You don't get to say you're sorry like you mean it. You've ruined everything! Don't you see what you've done?" Jasper blanches and then he sneers and fuck he's _angry_.

"I've ruined everything?" he shouts. "I'm pretty sure you were there Bella. In fact, I'm pretty fucking sure it was you who kissed me first."

"I knew you weren't as drunk as I was"

"Oh, come the fuck on, Bella, don't even start with that shit-"

"I thought you were okay with not telling anyone? I told you I wasn't going to tell him!"

"Well, I lied!"

"Why?" I scream, "Why would you do that?"

"Because he's my best friend!"

"Well, he's _my_ boyfriend."

"Not anymore," Jasper raises a brow, his jaw clenched in barely contained anger.

"Thanks largely in part to your big fucking mouth!"

"He knew, Bella." And it's his tone of voice that stops me right in my tracks. Jasper hangs his head, smoothing a hand over his face.

"What do you mean he knew?"

"He asked me if I was with you," he says simply.

"So what?"

"So he's not fucking stupid, Bella!" He says, louder this time. His voice is exasperated, his eyes tired and pleading. "You had my hand prints all over you." He shoves my hoodie sleeves up past my elbow. I see at once the crescent moon shaped bruise on my wrist in the shape of a set of teeth; more yellow-green than purple now. And then the other sleeve where three fingertip shaped bruises dot the skin above my elbow.

"You probably smelt like me," he whispers now, so close, too close. "Like sex." I flinch and then Jasper says "He'll forgive you."

"No he won't," I intone miserably.

"Yes," Jasper implores "he will."

Just then I hear a throat clear loudly from the doorway and my stomach drops. Hoping to God it's not someone from school. Hoping to God they didn't hear anything; hear everything.

But it's Rose, and I can't tell if that's any better.

"Can I talk to my best friend?" She asks finally.

Jasper inclines his head, dropping my wrist. "She's all yours."

I can scarcely let out the breath that I've been holding before Rosalie grabs my arm and drags me across the hallway into her room.

She thrusts me backwards onto her bed before shutting the door firmly behind her.

Al I want to do is go home, I don't want to have to explain this to her, don't want to have to relive every gory detail.

I just want to go home.

Rosalie paces back and forth in front me, her expression confused and a bit remorseful. I steal myself, ready to try to work my way through some sort of half-assed explanation when she speaks.

"I have something to tell you," she confesses urgently, eyes wide and apologetic.

"Okay," she begins. "This is going to sound crazy, but you have to hear me out." I nod my head. My eyelids are heavy but I force myself to focus on her.

"I think Jasper is in love with you." Then, suddenly wide awake, I laugh.

"I know how it sounds," she confesses.

"It sounds fucking crazy. Not to mention totally false."

Rosalie rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

"But it's not." And I tap my foot impatiently against the hard-wood floor, waiting for her to continue. "I overheard Jasper talking to Pete a while back. About you." I scoot closer to the edge of her bed, biting my lip, half-tempted to stop her before she can continue. "He told Peter how he felt about you. I happened to hear the whole conversation from where I was standing, eavesdropping." I smirk at that. "He told Peter that he felt things for you. That Alice knew and that Edward had just found out." I shake my head, panic starting to clog my throat.

"No," I say forcefully. "Jasper loved Alice." Rosalie sits next to me on the bed, brushing a strand of her away from my cheek. Her touch is soft, almost apologetic. I flinch away from it.

"Of course he did," Rosalie says simply. "But I think he loved you, too, Hells Bells." I take a deep breath and shake my head again. Like denying it will somehow make it untrue.

There's no fucking way.

There's no way that this is true.

"It's hard not to love you, Bells," she smiles an easy smile, eyes full of sincerity. "Edward knows that. He knew Jasper felt a certain way about you. Whether Jasper denied it or not, I don't know. But tonight," she pauses and grimaces. "I think he knew, Bells, I think Edward knew how Jasper felt and thought it would, I don't know, go away or something." I think back to what she said, what she hissed at Edward tonight and my stomach goes cold, like my body is freezing from the inside out.

 _"You promised," Edward says calmly. Jasper's shoulders sag under the weight of Edwards words. I turn to Edward my eyes narrowed in confusion._

 _"Promised what?"_

 _He spares me a sidelong glance and ignores my question. Rosalie grabs me by my elbow after a long, tense moment and hauls me out from in between the two._

 _"You knew?" She asks Edward suddenly, her voice hard and laced with barely concealed malice. "You knew all along and you, what? Ignored it? Hoped it would go away?"_

 _Edward rolls his eyes. "Of course not, but he's my best friend for fucks sake, what was I supposed to do?"_

My throat is tight just thinking about the confrontation between the two of them. Rosalie lays her arm across my shoulders, hugging me into her side. "Alice and Jasper breaking up? Edward and Jasper's falling out when she was in the hospital? That scene back there? It's because he has _feelings_ for you, Bells."

And I think back, think back on every little smile, every conversation, every moment and reanalyze, reevaluate, try to make sense of what she's saying.

But sense doesn't come.

"Even if it is true,"" I concede. "It doesn't matter. I just lost my sister Rose." She closes her eyes, and I can tell that she's trying to hold back tears. But I'm not. "I lost Alice, and now I've lost Edward, too."

And the weight of that realization crushes me.


	8. Chariot

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chariot- control, willpower, victory, assertion, determination, lack of control and direction, aggression.

A/N: Thank you to my awesome reviewers! You're all the bomb dot com! Also, every chapter I post is un-beta'd 'cause I don't know how that works still- so forgive me any spelling or grammar errors. I'm doing my best. Pretty soon these chapters are going to start getting longer. I know that they're short now, just bare with me. Xoxo- Elli.

Chapter 8

Ten months ago.

I think it's going to be like any other night, except it is not.

I notice three things straight away.

There are voices coming from the basement, which means either Alice or my parents are home.

The door is closed, which indicates that whoever is down there wants privacy.

And the third is that even with the door closed, I can hear the voices through the kitchen.  
Because whoever is home is screaming.

At first, I think it's Alice. But it's so unlike her, to yell, that I immediately scrap the idea.

It has to be my mom. Then I hear my dad, and a third, masculine voice. I tiptoe over to the basement door and swing it open, curious to see what's going on.

My parent's would never yell at a client like that.

And then I spot a head of dirty blonde curls and my stomach tightens.

What the hell is going on?

"She's not getting better, you guys have to _do_ something," Jasper urges, his voice heavy and laced with bitter sadness.

"We hear what you're saying." my mother placates, her fingers steepled and voice gentle as though she's trying to calm down a disgruntled client. "But our daughter is not sick." Jasper runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders hunched tightly, as though he's one giant, tightly coiled muscle that's close, so close to breaking, tearing, _snapping_. "You don't know her," my mother continues, and I can see that Jasper is ready to interrupt but she puts a thin, delicate hand up to stop him. "Not like we do," she finishes. "She's doing this for attention."

And all I can think is that she's wrong, so wrong. Alice isn't doing this for attention. And maybe Jasper is right. Maybe she is sick. Maybe something is wrong; inherently wrong, with my sister. Because she doesn't eat.

She doesn't eat.

And I don't understand it, couldn't even if I tried, but I know that it's true; have known for a while now that something isn't- hasn't been- _right_.

And part of me is glad, happy, ecstatic that I'm not the only one who pays attention, the only one who noticed what the fuck was going on. And I'm sure that he doesn't understand it, can't make sense of what it is that she's thinking or _doing_ (or not doing),but he's trying.

It clicks, registers in my mind in the darkest, most volatile way that something is wrong, that my sister is sick- so very, very sick- and that Jasper is _right_.

"Mom." My voice is quiet, barely discernible over the sound of their heavy, angry breathing. Jasper head snaps up and his eyes, they're dark and sad and there's truth there- I can see it bright and unblemished flashing like a neon sign- and there's regret and sorrow and resignation, and he's positively drowning in the feelings. "Mom," I repeat. "I think Jasper is right."

And I can see at once that maybe this will work, maybe they'll believe me because I'm her sister; their daughter. My mother's brows furrow in confusion and concern, but my dad remains still and silent beside her. "I think Alice is sick," I continue. "She never eats, she always sleeps. At first I didn't think that it was anything, but come on mom, you have to see that something is _wrong_ with her."

"There's nothing wrong with her, Bella Marie," but her voice is as tight as a bowstring, her eyes glassy and troubled.

"Yes mom, there is," I reiterate, voice strong and authoritative. "She's sick. She needs help."

And it's not my mom, who's cheeks are wet with tears- hands shaking and shoulders rigid- it's my dad; calm, cool and collected, that finally speaks.

"I think they're right, Renee. Something is wrong with Alice."

And that's it. Jasper's shoulders relax infinitesimally, and I can tell that mine do too, even though I can barely feel, or register, anything aside from the thrumming in my ears.

I can't believe this is happening.

And then I think, Alice is going to be so pissed.

But I can fit my thumb and pinky finger around her wrist, and when Jasper hugs her it looks like he's going to absolutely _crush_ her, I feel like _I'm_ going to crush her, and I hate seeing my big sister like this. Hate thinking that she's so frail, so fragile that anything, anyone could hurt her. I can't protect her from this; can't protect her from herself. I need help. Jasper and I need help.

"Can we have a minute?" my mom asks, voice thick with emotion. My dad clasps her hand tightly in his and I think- thank God they have each other. Thank God Alice has Jasper and that I have Edward. But is it enough? Is it all going to be enough?

My seventeen year old self can't handle this- it's too much. Alice is my idol and to find out that she's not perfect? Not unfailing; infallible? Nothing makes sense to me anymore.

I can't even fathom why someone would do this to themselves.

Can we fix it?

How do we even try?

Jasper and I leave the basement in silence, heads hung low, both lost in thought.

"You see it too, right?" He asks suddenly, his voice is desperate, cloying. I look at him, see through him. His eyes are huge, almost black and for the first time so, so unbelievably expressive. I nod slowly, scared to look away for reasons I don't quite understand. "I couldn't do it by myself anymore. I can't-" He pauses, hands trembling as they flit around his jacket pockets, "I can't take care of her. I can't fix this."

For some reason, seeing Jasper this scared, this emotional, makes me feel nervous- no, it makes me feel fucking _petrified_. Because _what if we can't fix thi_ s, fix _her_? I grab his hand, just to have something concrete to hold onto and whisper "You're not going to have to do it alone anymore." He squeezes- no, he _crushes_ \- my hand in his, terrified, flighty eyes locked on mine, and nods his head.

Like he understands; understands that I know, that I'm aware and that I'm here now, to help him help her. He understands that we'll do this _together_.

When Alice comes home later from shopping, the calm, informative talk that I think my parents are going to have with her goes terribly, horribly wrong.

At first I don't notice that anything is amiss. I decide to go downstairs to grab a snack from the kitchen and as soon as I open my door, I hear it.

Screaming. Loud and distinctly alarming in it's intensity.

And what I intrinsically thought of as fact- that Alice just doesn't have it in her to yell, to scream- is so obviously, patently _false_ now _._ I can hear her voice, high and affronted; piercing in a wholly different way than I am used to.

"Nothing is fucking wrong with me!" She cries, voice shrill and grating, like nails on a chalkboard, and I flinch when I hear her curse. "Nothing!"

"Mary Alice, we are trying to have a calm conversation with you, there is no need to swear at your mother." She scoffs, and the sound is nerve-wracking because she is not taking this well.

And why did I ever once think that she would?

"I'm not going to therapy," she says heatedly, and I can just imagine her, nostrils flared, hands set firmly on her tiny hips. "I refuse. You can't make me. I'm twenty years old."

"Then start acting like it!" My mother yells, and I cringe, because this is not going well. She's going to run, run, run, and then what the hell are we going to do?

"You will go to therapy, and you will try to get better, do you understand me?" I bite my lip, waiting for her response. But there isn't one.

Then I hear the sound of the front door closing.

And I'm sinking, sinking, sliding down the wall and fuck if we haven't ruined absolutely everything already.

My head in my hands, my heart in my throat, I try to stem the flow of tears, try to hold it together, but all I can think is I can't fix this, can't fix her. I'm too young, too inexperienced to handle this kind of shit. I don't know what I'm doing. And Jasper and I can't do this by ourselves.

I hear footsteps coming towards me but don't bother looking up. Suddenly, I feel someone crouch down next to me. A moment later my father wraps his arms around me, big and warm and comforting in a way that I can't even begin to fathom, and lifts me to my feet, leading me over to the stairs.

"Don't worry," he soothes, but I can hear an undercurrent of worry staining his otherwise confident tone of voice. "Alice is going to come to her senses. She loves you. If she doesn't want to get better for herself she'll want to get better for you. I promise we're going to do everything we can to help her get well."

I know that he's serious. I can hear the concern mixed with conviction in his voice. But the tight knot of anticipation and dread curls further in my stomach, and I wonder- will it be enough?


	9. Nine of Swords

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Nine of Swords- deception, premonitions and bad dreams, suffering and depression, cruelty, disappointment, violence, loss and scandal

Song for this chapter- SYML- Where's my love

Ch.9

On Monday morning, before the school bell finally rings, I find myself sitting alone in my truck. The thought of going inside, of facing everything that happened at the party on Friday is enough to make my breath stutter and my chest tighten up in morbid  
anticipation.

Fuck, this can't be happening.

I am so close, too close to turning my truck back on and driving away-but then I think to myself, what the fuck do these people matter? What the hell do I care what they think of me. I have only a couple of months left until I graduate and then I'm gone,  
gone gone. Far away from this place and it's absolutely fucking overwhelming memories.

I open the car door.

My heart feels so unbelievably heavy, as though it's going to drop right through my stomach to the floor. I don't need this. I can't handle this, can't make sense of this entire mess. And this, everything, is my fault. I'm drowning, lungs bursting to  
full with air that hurts to breath out.

I unsnap my seat belt, slide out, and snap the car door shut behind me.

The air is balmy and early-spring chilly. I hug my jacket tighter to my frame, desperately trying to keep my eyes on the ground despite the constant hum of voices that surrounds me. I feel their voices, hear the words twisting and turning and changing  
into something hushed and accusatory as I make my way to the front of the school. It's hard to tune everything out, to keep my eyes focused on the black top in front of me. I think they know. All of them. I think I can hear them whispering about me.

I don't even stop to go to my locker.

I make my way quickly to homeroom, pitching forward through packs of students still milking the final few seconds they have before the bell rings. I stumble my way through the crowd, eyes still glued to the ground, throat tight and eyes burning.

I'm one of the first students in homeroom.

I drop heavily into my desk, ears red. My chest feels like it's on fire, and my palms are warm and sweaty. I try to ignore everyone as they walk in, try to ignore the sound of chairs scraping and hushed voices. I can literally feel their eyes burning  
into me. It's almost like there's a snake slithering, coiling around my neck; twisting through my arms and around my legs. My muscles feel tight and pinched in an almost painful way.

I sense his presence before I see him, and it's clear that that much hasn't changed. As much as I want to keep staring at the floor, it's like my body has a mind of it's own and my eyes snap towards the doorway. Edward walks in, binder tucked under his  
arm, hands folded into the pockets of his jeans. He doesn't see me at first, and his face is neutral, bored. But then he spots me- his eyes scanning the room as though he's looking for me, purposefully- and his shoulders sag, eyes going hard and cold.  
He makes his way over to the desk next to mine, his face full of anger. But there's something else, something sad and hurt and betrayed about his expression that makes me feel fucking claustrophobic. And I want to run, need to run, to get out of here.  
I can feel my breath coming faster the closer he gets to the desk next to mine. Finally, he sits down. He doesn't say anything, and I don't expect him to. The whispers are louder now, and finally, unable to take it, take any of it, I turn my head  
sharply towards the front of the classroom.

Finally, the bell rings. Everyone gets quiet as Mrs. Cope, the English teacher, stands up.

"There's an assembly this morning," She says reluctantly, her thin wiry glasses slipping down her nose. She pushes them back up her face with two bony fingers and sighs. "Wait," She scolds as we all rise from our seats. "We're to head out, _single file_ ,  
to the auditorium." Nobody listens and we all try to pass through the door at once. I stay behind, as does Edward, but he doesn't turn to look at me. Doesn't even spare me a glance as he walks out behind the cluster of our classmates. I follow behind  
everyone, heart in my throat.

I think about turning around, about just saying 'fuck it' and letting it all go. What the fuck do I have to lose anymore? But I want to graduate. I want to get my diploma and get out of here so badly. So I suck it up and continue behind them.

Inside the auditorium we sit with our classmates. I try to look for Rosalie, my eyes skimming over the bulk of the students with quick building dread. They're all looking at me, I realize. At least, most of them are. They all must know.

Screw Tanya and her big, stupid whore mouth, I think.

But fuck if this isn't all my fault. Because really, I'm the one to blame here. I'm a cheater. A liar. A whore.

A cheater. A liar. A whore.

A cheater.

A liar.

A whore.

God, I'm despicable. I sit down quickly, neck tucked into the top of my sweater, trying to fold into myself, trying to disappear; trying to make it all just disappear. I can see Edward sitting three rows down from me. His back is ram-rod straight, as  
though he's aware of my presence behind him. I sit in preternatural silence until the Principal waddles out from behind the curtain, rolling a projector on a cart behind him.

The voices are so loud as to be deafening, and it takes the shrill screech of the gym coaches whistle to get everybody to quiet down. Finally, the noise dims, as do the lights and my shoulders relax only slightly. I drown out the monotonous droning voice  
of our Principal and curl my fists into my side. I can still see Edward in front of me, the faded gray of his t-shirt stretched across the muscles of his back. His shoulders are unnaturally stiff, and I clench my jaw, try to keep my eyes from watering  
because, _I did this_. I fucking _did this_ , and to _him_. And I can't believe, don't want to believe that I'm this person. That I hurt people.

As though he can feel my eyes on him, Edward turns around in his seat. His eyes are no longer carefully empty, instead they're almost concerned, his brows furrowed and his mouth set in a grim line. I avert my gaze as quickly as possible, and that's when  
I notice it.

The projector screen is illuminated, the glow almost hypnotizing, blinding against its near black background. The image on the screen is a young girl, her shirt pulled up past her ribs which are visible through the paper-thin tissue of her skin. Her cheeks  
are hollow, sunken in, her collarbone protruding and razor sharp. And like I've just exited a dark and twisted tunnel, the noise, the colors and the light come rushing at me at full speed. Everything in my peripheral is inky blackness. All I can see  
is my principal, bald and plump, dressed in a suit coat that doesn't quite fit him- couldn't possibly button in the center- and his lips. I can see his mouth forming the words, but I can't make out complete sentences.

Eating Disorders.

Disease.

Death.

Hospitals.

And it's all too fucking much. I don't even feel the tears. The minute I try to breathe in through my nose just to find it clogged, I am mortified. I can feel my face flame, and then I'm looking around me and I _see_ _them_. I see the faces.  
I swing my head around in an almost blind panic now, but I can't make out any one person. Every face is blurring, swirling into one giant sympathetic expression, eyes lilting and sad, mouths turned down into a frown. I get up from my seat, throat  
thick with tears, and stumble towards the aisle way. Mrs. Cope tries to catch me, but I pull my elbow out of her thin grasp and run to the auditorium doors. The shock of sunlight in the dark room makes everyone turn around, I'm sure, but I don't turn  
my head to check. I can hear footsteps behind me and my breathing picks up, my legs feeling as heavy as lead.

"Isabella!" I hear someone call out. The counselor. They sent the counselor after me. I want to laugh but all that comes out is a pathetic choking sound. "Why don't we go to my office and talk," she says, disturbingly close to my ear.

At that, I actually do laugh."Fuck off." She doesn't follow me after that, and I'm grateful. After what feels like an eternity I finally make my way to the back of the parking lot, where my truck is parked. The minute I spot it, I feel a million pounds  
lighter. I pull the handle and barely have enough time to spill into the car before I'm absolutely fucking sobbing.

All I can see is the image of Alice's emaciated body displayed like a high definition photograph on the backs of my eyelids.

Why did she fucking _do_ this to me?

I don't understand it.

Why couldn't she have just gotten better?

I can feel what she felt, the raw, blind fucking _panic_ ; the feeling like oh my God, oh my God I'm going to fucking die. I can feel it in my chest, and I want it to go away. It has no place here. I have no idea what she really felt before she died.  
How fucking scared and how broken and filled with regret she must have been as she slid down the wall of that dirty gas station bathroom and closed her eyes for the last time.

Did it hurt?

Did she even know what was happening?

She was probably so fucking scared. Thin and breakable and terrified, and fucking _alone_.

 _She was fucking alone._ And it makes me so angry.

We couldn't find her. I couldn't find her and I fucking hated myself for it. What kind of sister was I?

God this fucking _hurts_. My chest feels like it's going to cave in, and I can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breath. I want to die.

I hear the passenger side door to my truck open but I don't look at who it is, couldn't care less. I don't stop, I can't stop feeling this and it fucking makes me scared and angry and fuck, it just _hurts so much_. I breathe in through my nose,  
the sniffling, sniveling sound pitiful even to my own ears. I can smell him, the scent masculine and strong and entirely Edward. Like mint toothpaste and grass and something musky and undefined. He puts his arm around me. I can't tell if he says anything,  
can't hear through the cotton stuffed in my ears. His hands grip my arms and he pulls, pulls me into his side and I let him. I bury my face into the thin cotton of his shirt and then I'm crying because fuck, even if I do deserve this because of my  
sister, I don't deserve this because of who I am. Or rather, what kind of person I am. The thought makes me cry even harder because-

Well, because I am the worst sort of monster.

Everything is such a mess. I've destroyed it all.

Edward's hands are drawing soothing circles across my lower back and all I want to do is crawl out of my skin. I want to tell him to get away from me, to run far, far away from all of this. He was an innocent bystander, a nonentity. He didn't deserve  
to be tainted, sucked into this horrifying mess. And then suddenly, I'm angry at Alice.

Did she have any fucking idea what she was doing? Did she know that she was shattering Jasper? That she was essentially destroying me and our family? That she was dragging an innocent, naive young boy along for her roller coaster ride? She couldn't have  
known; wouldn't have known what a mess things were going to be after she was gone. If she could see it all, would she regret it? Would she change anything? Would she still leave me?

Edward runs a soothing hand through my tangled, unwashed hair and sighs. "I'm sorry," he's saying, low and apologetic. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I choke back a sob and try to rub at my eyes with the sleeve of my sweatshirt but it's like the  
tears won't stop because all I can see is Alice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

And he's the one saying it but I feel it, I feel it so wholly that it just makes me cry harder.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

I don't know what to do, don't know where to go from here.

Edward doesn't have the answers, even though I've always expected him to.

I suddenly find myself feeling very alone, and it tastes bitter and sick on my tongue. I can imagine Alice feeling alone. Can imagine that she wondered where we were. If we were even looking for her.

Didn't she know?

Didn't she know that we would have never stopped?

I wish that I could have told her this. Could have told her this and so many other things, before she died.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, **I'm sorry**.

I don't sniffle and wipe at my tears. They don't abate slowly. One minute I'm crying and the next minute, I'm quiet. The rain has started up outside and I can hear the almost metallic pink-ping against the windshield of my truck. I rest my head heavily  
against the head rest, Edward's arm still wrapped tightly around my waist. My legs are tucked into his side, resting on top of his left thigh.

"Do you want me to take you home?" he asks in a hushed voice, concern lacing his tone. I shake my head, voice still too raw to speak.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asks even quieter.

"You don't have to-" I begin, my voice sounds deep and embarrassing with misuse.

"Shh," Edward soothes, pulling me closer to him. "It's okay, I'm so sorry." My head is pounding, my eyes are swollen so tight that I feel almost tired. Edward gently detangles himself from me and climbs over my lap, pushing me over on the leather bench  
so that he can sit in the driver's seat. He fishes the keys out of my bag, pushing them and turning the engine over with a grating click-click-click.

"Let me take you home," he says simply. I don't acknowledge him. I just lay myself across the bench seat, legs tucked into my chest. Edward puts the car in gear and rolls out of the parking lot. I don't register the trees passing by, or the rhythmic whirring  
of tires on concrete. I block everything out. The thick splat of rain against the windows is unbearably loud in the small cab, and somehow it seems to be the only thing that can penetrate the thick fog that's descended over my mind. After a short  
while, Edward parks the car in my driveway and opens his door, coming around to open mine.

"You don't have to do this-" I start, voice flat and thick. Edward grabs my hand and pulls me from where I'm laying on the seat. His eyes are warm and forceful on mine.

"Stop, Bella," he says pleadingly. "Let me help you." My eyes glaze over with tears again as he pulls me closer to him and helps me up the porch steps to my house.

Once we're inside, he walks me up the stairs and to my room, gathering up a pair of pajamas from my dresser drawer. He hands them to me and without waiting for him to turn around, I pull the short on and switch into the tank top. Edward, for his part,  
doesn't flinch or turn away. After I'm dressed, he leads me over to the bed and tucks me in like I'm a small child.

"Lay down," he breathes in a quiet, yet commanding voice. He looks so beautiful, so sad and beautiful that I shut my eyes. "Get some rest," he says. The velvet, musical lilt of his voice an almost soothing lullaby. I relax into the mattress, eyelids shut  
and crusted over with dried tears.

xxx

When I wake up, I almost forget where I am and what has happened, but my moment of reprieve is short and suddenly I see that picture plastered against my eyelids. The sharp cut of bones through pale skin. And then suddenly it's not a nameless, faceless  
teenager, it's my _sister_ , and fuck it _hurts_.

"Hey." I jump, startled. Edward is sitting in a chair in the corner of my room, his cellphone laid neatly on his lap. "How are you?"

"You didn't have to stay," I say instead of answering.

"I didn't have a way to get home," Edward grimaces.

"Here let me-"

"Bella," he interrupts. I swallow tightly. "We need to talk." The words are ominous, and they send an all encompassing feeling of dread that simmers to the pit of my stomach. Edward's face is full of compassion and I'm instantly wary, because that expression  
looks pitying and miserable. "I think you need help."

And that's not what I'm expecting him to say. I must look bewildered, because Edward continues. "I know that it hasn't been too long. It's only been a month, really, but you've been dealing with this for so long." He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck  
with his hand. "I think you need to see someone. Like a therapist." I scoff. "I'm serious, Bella," his eyes snap to mine, sincere and pleading. "For almost two years your life was all about Alice and the hospital and then she left-" I whimper. "I  
just think that you could benefit from talking to someone. I hate seeing you like this." I try to control my breathing, try to calm my racing heart.

I can't believe-

There's no way that he's saying these things to me.

"Bella," Edward whispers. And the tone of his voice is different, so so very different from before. It's sad and apprehensive and uncharacteristically vulnerable. My fingertips tingle. "You cheated on me." I close my eyes, wiping my palms on the blanket  
pooled around my ankles. "I fucking love you," he says heatedly, lurching forward next to the bed. He leans across the foot-board, his knuckles white against the dark wood. "I love you, I just want you to be happy. I wish this hadn't happened to you.  
I wish that I could take the pain away for you."

"And you think going to see a therapist is going to help me?" I can tell Edward is confused by my tone of voice. I'm not even sure if I'm angry, or if I'm considering that option.

Maybe I should go see someone.

Maybe Alice's death has fucked me up so bad that I'll never be normal again.

Is therapy really even going to help? Especially with all my fucking problems?

"I think it could help, if you let it," Edward replies and his face is serious. "I think it's about time for you to start putting yourself back together. I want to help you." I nod my head, my heart oddly heavy. "Let me help you."

"I'll think about it." I say, dreading the idea of a therapist. But I want to get better. I want to feel normal again. I want things to go back to the way that they were before, before-

"That's all that I ask," Edward breathes, "We may not be together right now, but you're still one of my best friends, Bella, and I care about you." Edward leans forward and takes my face in his hands, his eyes boring into mine. I lean my cheek into his  
palm, eyelashes spiky and stuck together with unshed tears.

"Everything is going to be okay," Edward whispers into my hair. And I wish that I could believe him. I try to pretend to. But I can see in the set of his shoulder and the gleam in his eyes as he pulls away that he knows that I don't believe him.

A/N: Have we switched teams yet or are we all still rooting for #teamjasper (; Either way, that was a heavy one... Review and let me know what you thought! Xoxo- Elli


	10. Nine of Wands

Ch. 10

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Song for this chapter- Agnes Obel- Smoke & Mirrors

Nine of Wands- Courage, persistence, test of faith, resilience, on edge, defensive, hesitant,

Disclaimer: Twilight is not mine.

Five Months ago...

The Eating Recovery Clinic of Washington looks more like a luxurious hotel than a rehabilitation center. It's the middle of November, and the lobby is decked out in an assortment of garish holiday decorations, already. The inside is warmly lit with strings  
/of twinkling white Christmas lights in the shape of icicles and strands of pine-scented evergreen garland strung all over. I see a small group of girls sitting on chairs next to a blazing fire. They're all dressed similarly in thick wool sweaters,  
/leggings and socks, all thin and weary looking. I can tell they don't want to be here. I sigh, shifting my focus back towards my sister.

Because today is one of those rare days that we can all be together in the same room, and I'm not taking that for granted.

I've been trying to get Edward and Jasper in the same room for the past month. Edward refuses to tell me why they're fighting and I know that it's none of my business. Still, it pains me to see Edward so distraught over their argument, whatever it is.  
/And it makes me resent Jasper a little more than I already do. With everything going on, I wish they would just get over whatever it is that made them argue in the first place. We all need to be strong for Alice's sake.

Present a united front and all that...

The tension is thick and awkward but Alice seems oblivious to it, thankfully.

"And I know that he's one of my counselors, but I wouldn't mind giving him a sponge-bath if you know what I'm saying."

"Alice," I hiss, trying to smother my laughter. Jasper rolls his eyes, but he has a small smile on his face, too. Edward stays silent on the bench seat beside me. His body angled away from Jasper and Alice. I can tell that he wants to be here for me,  
/but that our present company is making him feel stifled. He won't say it, but he wants to, needs to, leave.

"What?" she asks innocently, eyes wide. I grab Edward's hand and pull him up next to me.

"We're going to look around a bit," I say gently, "give you guys some alone time." Jasper nods gratefully and Edward grips my hand tighter in his. "Hopefully there's some coffee in this place," I whisper under my breath. Edward snorts.

"You don't drink coffee. You drink toxic, highly caffeinated sludge." Jasper smiles, but it's halfhearted and then he points to the hallway beside us.

"There's some by the kitchen." I nod my head in thanks and pull Edward behind me.

We make our way through the slim, crowded hallway, back towards the kitchen. Outside, there is a buffet table set up with coffee, water, tea and snacks. There are a few bagels and danishes missing, but other than that the trays are decidedly full. I grab  
/a Styrofoam cup and fill it up to the brim with black coffee, inhaling deeply.

"Do you want anything?" I ask Edward, my voice hesitant, patient; maybe, _maybe_ he'll finally tell me what's going on. He shakes his head and grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me into his side.

No dice.

"She looks a little better, don't you think?" Edward's voice is quiet but clear, enthusiastic and supportive, and I melt into his side, because she does look better. She looks healthy.

Fucking _finally_ , I think.

After pointless hospital visits wherein Alice ultimately always checked herself out, and the fights and the talks and the crying and pleading and _begging_.

This was all Alice's idea, in the end.

College could wait, I told her late one night. She needed to get better.

I couldn't lose her.

A few weeks later, she checked herself in.

"She does, doesn't she?" I ask with a smile on my face. I can't help it. I feel happy, I feel hopeful, too. I know that I shouldn't just yet. She is still getting better, and it's a slow process, but I'm full to bursting because every time I come to see  
/her she looks better and better; more like the sister that I remember. There's a beautiful, clear brightness to her eyes that hasn't been there in months.

Edward squeezes me closer to his side, and guides me towards the back door. Once the door is shut behind us, he casts a glance around us to see if there's anyone outside. Finally, he plucks the cup of coffee out of my hand and sets it on the rim of the  
/outdoor ashtray next to us. I barely have time to object before his hands are on my face and his lips are on mine.

It's cold outside, there are snowflakes falling. I can feel them catching on my eyelashes as Edward's lips mold to mine. They're warm and sticky and taste like peppermint candy canes. I sigh into the kiss and he runs his hands down my neck, the bare skin  
/of his fingers cold against my throat. It's sweet and gentle and beautiful and after he pulls away I am absolutely _glowing_.

Edward chuckles at my expression, eyes still closed, unnaturally wide smile on my face. He laughs and runs his fingers through my hair.

"You're perfect," he says.

I stop. Swallow. Try to say thank you, but nothing comes out.

My tongue swells and sticks to the roof of my mouth.

And it's in that moment that I realize that I've lost some of my naivety, my innocence. Because his sentence should be beautiful and endearing and charming, but it's not.

 _It's not._

I can't tell if it's because all of this with Alice is still so new and fresh or because the word _perfection_ hits so close to home; perhaps it's both. But I know now that nobody is perfect, least of all me. My sister is in an expensive, near constant  
/therapy session trying to learn that lesson for herself right now.

I try to reign it I, try to look normal and unaffected. But Edward must sense that something is wrong because he tilts my chin up and tries to catch my eye.

"Hey." I look up, the hypnotizing moss green of his eyes trapping me. "What's wrong?" He asks. I shake my head, reluctant to tell anyone that my anxiety is still festering, still clogging and clouding my mind. I don't want to be the pessimist, but I can't  
/help it. Alice looks so good, everything has been going so well, I can't help but feel like I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I don't want anyone to know that I feel this way, and I'm not sure why.

"Do you want to go inside?" He asks. I shiver in my coat, pulling my gloves off and picking the coffee back up from the ledge of the ashtray. I open the door for the both of us and follow Edward inside, back to our table. He makes his way around the corner  
/before I do and he shuffles to a stop in front of me.

"What-" and then I see it. Alice is sitting at the table by herself, her face in her hands. Jasper is making his way across the lobby, his shoulders hunched inside his tan jacket. Edward shifts uncomfortably in front of me, and then he's all action.

"You go see what's wrong, and I'll see if I can talk to Jasper."

"Are you sure-" I start to ask, conscious of their fight. He won't tell me what it's about, won't let me in on any of the details. I've tried to ask but those files are closed, sealed, marked confidential. I figure that Edward will eventually tell me  
/all about it. Until then, I'll give him time and space.

"Yeah, go check on your sister," he reassures. I watch him walk off, his shoulders and neck stiff.

I make my way over to Alice, sliding silently into the bench seat. She lifts her head, her eyes red-rimmed but devoid of tears. I furrow my brow in concern. She folds her hands on top of the table and sighs heavily, as though she has the weight of the  
/world resting on top of her shoulders.

"That was weird," I whisper to Alice, my eyes cautious, my posture tense.

"Not really," She returns, her voice careful and controlled. Her nose is red and stuffed.

"What do you mean?" I ask, suspicious.

"Jasper and I just broke up." I drop my coffee from my lap onto the linoleum floor and swear.

"What the hell Alice? What do you mean you guys broke up," I hiss under my breath, eyes searching frantically for paper towels _anywhere_.

Fuck this coffee is _hot_.

"We don't love each other anymore."

"He said that?" I ask, pissed off, because how are you about to break up with your girlfriend while she's-

"No," she says slowly. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. "I said it to him."

"Why?" I must look disbelieving because Alice shrugs her shoulder and looks down at the cheap, Formica table top.

"It's been like this for a while now. Jasper was my first love." She pauses, voice thick, but her hands are steady and her eyes are determined. "He'll always be my first love, you know? But we're too different. I think we would have broken up a lot soon  
/had I not gotten sick." She says it so calmly, I'm almost scared. "Plus I think it will help with my recovery. I need to love myself before I can love someone else."

I smile, my heart beating harder in my chest and my eyes glossing over with tears, because she's right, but Jasper is probably _wrecked_.

"Are you okay?" I ask. "You guys have been together for almost four years. That's a long time, Allie." She nods her head sagely, hands still crossed in front of her.

"Yeah, I know," she says simply, without emotion. "We're just not right for each other. I need to focus on me right now."

"You didn't do this so you could spare him, right? Jasper would help you through this. He wants to help you. He loves you." Alice shakes her head and I can see that I'm frustrating her, if only a little.

"No Bella, it's not like that, I know he would stay-"

"Do you want me to go get him? I think you guys should talk about this." Suddenly, she throws her hands up in exasperation.

"No, we don't need to talk about this anymore. I've made my decision. Jasper and I are over. That's it." My eyes are wide and a little terrified, a little mystified, because this is the first time in so long, too long that I've heard my sister yell at  
/me. "I'm sorry," she apologizes after glimpsing my face. It's not really okay, so I don't say anything.

This is it, the other shoe.

I knew it.

"Let's talk about something else," Alice says cheerfully, and her sudden change of mood leaves me feeling like I've just experienced a serious case of whiplash.

"Okay," I say slowly "what do you want to talk about?" Alice rolls her shoulders, her eyes darting around the room as though she's gearing up for a fight.

"What do you say about going on a road trip when I get out of here?" I narrow my eyes in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," she states simply "that after I get out of here, and after you graduate of course, we should go on a road trip." I grin, because the idea is outrageous but it's also good. Alice getting out of here, getting better, leaves me feeling indescribably  
/happy.

"Yeah, okay, where would we go?" I say playing along, now.

"Anywhere we want. We could go see the worlds biggest frying pan or the world's biggest ball of yarn."

"Or the Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls," I say sensibly.

"Yeah, or we could go see that stuff." I laugh loudly, and several girls look over at me.

"Just you and me?" I ask.

"Yeah, Bells, Just you and me. A road trip would be a good way to heal, I think." And I couldn't agree with her more. Getting out of here, graduating high school and going on a trip with my best friend, my sister, is just what we both need.

"It's a genius idea, Alice," I acquiesce. She smiles a stunning smile at me and I return it, hands stuffed in the pockets of my puffy black jacket. Just then, a member of the staff, clad in an unflattering green polo, makes his way over to the fireplace.

"Attention guests! Visiting day is officially over in five minutes, please say goodbye to your loved ones. There will be informational pamphlets offered on your way out. Thank you for coming out to the Washing Eating Recovery Clinic." Everybody bustles  
/into action, but I don't want to move, don't want to get up from my seat.

"You can come to visiting day again in two weeks, it's not that bad, Bella," She says, and she's trying to be strong, trying to show me that she's taking her recovery seriously because she'll still be here in two weeks. I feel my shoulders relax and I  
/get up from my seat to hug her. She feels small and fragile in my arms, but there's more. I can feel more of Alice now, and it makes me hopeful again. Maybe this will work out.

And I'll get to see the world's biggest ball of yarn with her once she's better.

After saying goodbye to Alice, I make my way out the front door an am startled to see Jasper and Edward in the parking lot, standing by Jasper's black rust-bucket. I'm too far away, I can't hear them, couldn't even if I tried. But I can make out their  
/faces, and they look angry. The closer I get, the more I can hear.

Edward is arguing, his voice hushed, authoritative and demanding. I shiver where I stand. Jasper is silent, his eyes narrows and his mouth curled into an almost sneer, and then he's talking back, voice dangerously low, as though he knows I'm right around  
/the corner.

"Hey guys," I say loudly, trying to attract their attention. They both spring apart, as though they've been caught doing something wrong. Edward appears sheepish, he runs a hand across the back of his neck and slowly looks at Jasper out of the corner  
/of his eye.

But Jasper is staring at me.

"Are you okay?" I ask him quietly, slowly making my way over to the both of them. "Alice told me what happened. I'm really sorry Jasper, you know she's going through a lot right now."

"It's not a big deal," he say's coldly, his eyes glued to the ground. I furrow my brows.

"Yes it is-"

"Just drop it, Bella," He says exasperated.

So I do.

And Edward and I watch him walk away, his posture defeated and sad, and neither of us says a word.

We don't see him again for three months.


	11. Three of Swords

Ch. 11

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Three of Swords- Painful separation, sorrow heartbreak, grief, rejection. Releasing pain, optimism, forgiveness.

A/N: YOU WANT IT, YOU GOT IT.

This one is for all you Jasper fans out there.I hope this is sufficient (; I've outlined to chapter 24- so know that there will be more than 24 chapters to this story.

(novel length, here we come) Hope you're still diggin' it, Thanks to all my amazing reviewers/followers for sticking with me, here.

Didn't they tell you that I was a savage?

Fuck your white horse and a carriage.

Bet you never could imagine, never told you, you could have it.

You _needed_ me.

\- Needed me, Rihanna.

I don't see him until it's much too late.

I break through the thin spread of low down branches and grimace, turning on my heel instantly.

"Stop," he says. I freeze, turning back around slowly, trying to look normal; trying to arrange my features into something polite, yet distant. "I was just leaving," he informs me, his voice hollow and quiet.

Jasper rises from where he was knelt on the grass, fingers splayed against the headstone. I lick my lips, try to swallow back the awkwardness. My throat feels dry and scratchy, like sandpaper.

"It's okay," I whisper, making my way over to him. I'm trying not to look at him, but I'm also trying not to look at her headstone; at the fresh flowers laid out over the dirt.

White daisies.

They're fitting.

My eyes are drawn to it, though, the headstone. A neat slab of concrete. I see the words, but they don't phase me.

Mary Alice Swan.

June 26th, 1993-March 19, 2016.

Beloved daughter, sister, friend.

There's a simple, beautiful etched cross in the background, framed by a spectacular pair of angel wings. I stare at the inscription and the picture longer than I should, longer than I want to.

But I don't feel anything. I put my fist to my chest and rub, hard, because I should feel _something, anything._ Shouldn't I? The spot there is numb though, like just past my ribs is a black hole that just sucks the blood through.

"I don't even feel like she's down there." Jasper doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just stands there quietly beside me, staring at the headstone with equal interest.

"I don't believe in heaven," Jasper says quietly, licking his lips. I nod my head, because frankly I don't either. If there was a God up there he wouldn't have taken my sister. He wouldn't have taken Alice. "But if there was one person who deserved to  
/have some sort of life after death, it would be your sister." I smile. It's hard not to, because he's right.

Alice's light shone so bright it's hard to believe that it's simply burnt out.

"She had the most beautiful soul," he continues, "was the most unbelievable girl I'd ever met. So happy, and loving and forgiving." I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat and rub my chest harder. "You don't even know the half of it," he whispers.

"What did you do?" I ask, voice curious and soft. "Alice loved you, I can't imagine her having to forgive you anything." Jasper just looks at me out of the corner of his eye, the bottle glass green startling in it's intensity.

And suddenly my heart is beating harder in my chest. I think I know and I wish I didn't.

"Was it," I start and then bite my lip.

Oh God.

Oh God, Oh God.

No, no, no.

"Was I the reason she broke up with you?" I can feel Jasper stiffen beside me. He doesn't say anything; doesn't _have_ to. He just clenches his jaw and looks away.

Fuck.

Oh _Fuck_.

"Why?" I ask, and I'm suddenly angry.

Because everyone is keeping things from me; have been keeping things from me for so long that I don't know what's fact or fiction, can't differentiate between the two. Everything is blurring together- wrong, right, truth and lies.

Alice deserved Jasper's love, untainted and pure. I want to go back to the way that things where, before the ugliness and truth got loose. I wish I never knew the things I know now.

I wish I could go back to the beginning so badly that my heart physically aches.

God, Rosalie was _right_.

"I don't want to talk about this," Jasper deadpans.

"Oh my God, she knew. She knew didn't she? Alice knew how you felt and that's why you guys broke up?" Jasper runs a hand over his face and sighs heavily. "Did Edward know? Is that why you two stopped talking?" He turns to me and he doesn't even need to  
/say anything. For once, his eyes are completely transparent.

"Everyone knew how you f-felt but me?" I stutter, trying in vein to keep my emotions under control. Jasper bites his lip, his brow furrowed.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he says lowly, his voice gruff and thick.

"You're right, I don't! Because nobody talked to me, nobody told me anything. You all just kept your _secrets_ -"

"I loved Alice, and Alice loved you. That's all you need to know. Drop it, Bella."

"No I will not drop it!" I shout, hands shaking. "You all lied to me. You're still lying to me! Why are you guys treating me like I'm a child?" I demand.

"Because you are one," Jasper hisses, just as heated. His eyes are almost black and his face is so close to mine that I flinch away and stumble on some overgrown vines. Jasper reaches our a hand and grabs my elbow to keep me from falling, his nostrils  
/flared in anger. I rip my arm out of his grasp and back away from him. "What happened to 'let's pretend nothing ever happened'?" And that stops me in my tracks, because he's right.

He's right.

I can't believe I'm letting all of this stuff cloud the memory I have of my sister. I should just let it go. Let all of it go.

Now that she's gone are these answers really worth digging around for? Are these friendships, these relationships even worth hanging on to? Alice is gone and I feel like everything is falling apart. Our friendship, mine Edward and Jasper's, has completely  
/imploded.

There's nothing left but rubble- bones and ash and twisted metal.

We're all _lost_.

She's been gone for over amonthand it's like we've completely destroyed everything already.

It feels like we couldn't fix it if we tried and none of us seems to want to.

And it fucking devastates me. How did we get like this? We were family for four years. The four of us did everything together. I should have known, should have guessed that it would all fall apart after she died. That we would all fall apart. I should  
/have seen this coming.

"Alice and I broke up because we weren't in love anymore." But I can see on his face; in his eyes that he doesn't really believe what he's telling me. And he has to know that I'm not buying it.

"You're still lying to me," I ground out between clenched teeth. My hands are curled into fists. I can feel the cold sweat sliding through the dips and curls in my skin; can feel the pulsing of my heartbeat in my fingertips.

"You're right, I am," He relents, broad shoulders dropping and eyes narrowed.

I can't tell if it's an admission of guilt or is he's just agreeing with me to piss me off. Jasper and I have always had a competitive, volatile relationship. Constantly fighting, trying to demand the attention of my sister. We know how to push each others  
/buttons.

But for some reason, I don't think that he's just trying to upset me. The look in his eyes is challenging, as though he's daring me to call him out. To ask him the dark questions on the tip of my tongue.

Do you care about me?

Did you leave Alice because of me?

Did you ever really love her?

My stomach lurches as I think of the last question, because I know it's not possible. Jasper loved Alice. I'm sure of it, more sure than I am about anything right now. I remember every look he gave her. From brooding to playful to adoringly indulgent.  
/He felt _something_ for her. I'm sure of it.

The only thing that's very clear to me now is that he felt _something_ for me, too.

I don't know if it's the same something or a different type of something. But something is more than nothing and I can't seem to wrap my head around that fact.

I think back to the looks he saved only for me. Brooding, serious, _intense_. He hid that _something_ well.

I want to speak, want to say something, anything; my anger has all but evaporated, though. Instead, I say "Edward thinks I should go to therapy." Because I don't want to play Jasper's games anymore and I want to tell someone so badly. "He thinks I'm fucked  
/up. I don't know, maybe I am. That's why he thinks I cheated on him. Because I'm messed up in the head." Jasper looks down at the ground, fingers stuffed in his pockets, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. From beneath a set of thick, dark  
/lashes, he glances up at me, his eyes narrowed.

"That's not why." He whispers it so quietly I barely hear him.

I look up at him. He runs a hand through his hair as though he's uncomfortable, as though he doesn't want to be having this conversation with me. He probably doesn't. I must seem like some sort of psycho, spilling secrets to a person who is closer to  
/a stranger than a friend anymore.

So I say it, because what do I have to lose anymore? "I feel crazy," I say. A part of me is hoping that he doesn't hear me. Another part, the larger part, hopes that he does. I don't want to feel crazy. I want someone to tell me that it's okay to be angry  
/and confused and sad and _hurt_.

Jasper takes a step forward, hands tucked back into his pockets. He looks bored, not at all like I've just spilled one of my deepest, darkest secrets to him.

"You're not crazy," he says. "Your sister just died. You're allowed to feel feelings, Bella."

I shake my head. "I cheated on Edward with you. You're Alice's. I have to be fucked up. I have to be crazy."

"I'm not Alice's anymore. I haven't been for a while." He raises an eyebrow, as if daring me to object.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes," he says urgently, "it does."

"I'm still messed up. Still crazy." Jasper smiles, steps a little closer to me. I have to look up now to catch his eye.

"I fucked my dead ex-girlfriends baby sister. What does that make me?" The way he says _fucked_ makes my stomach feel tight. His expression is blank, but I can sense the bitterness in his voice, can almost taste it on my tongue, because I get it,  
/I _understand_.

"I don't know," I say. "Crazy? Fucked up? Like me." He laughs, and I'm startled by the sound, because it's bitter, too, like his voice, and loud and husky and _mesmerizing_.

I look at Jasper then. Really look at him, in a way that I never have, never needed too before.

Because he's Alice's.

Except he's not anymore.

He's beautiful, but not in the way that Edward is beautiful. Jasper's beauty is subtle and disarming in it's intensity.

He's quiet, eyes piercing, the most stunning shade of light turquoise I've ever seen anywhere. His lips are full and pale, his thin, straight nose dotted in freckles. Ash brown eyebrows, thick and expressive. His strong, clenched jaw is covered in blonde  
/stubble. He runs a hand through twisting dirty blonde curls that are just as wild and untamed as he is. His hair is thick and falls to his shoulders, short wispy pieces frizzing and curling around his ears.

He's looking at me and I'm wondering if maybe he's thinking the same thing. What does he see when he looks at me?

Does he see Alice?

Or does he see our differences?

My hair was much longer and thicker than hers, a shade or two lighter than her inky black locks. Her eyes were blue, and wide and innocent.

But we had the same thin, delicate features, the same heart shaped faces.

He stares and I know exactly what he sees.

Someone decidedly beautiful, but also broken.

"I'll walk you to your car," He says quietly.

"Will you just give me a minute?" Jasper nods and walks away, and I'm left alone with Alice. Alone with her headstone, a big patch of dirt that hasn't grown over with grass yet.

I stare at her name.

"I'm sorry."

And it's not enough, I know that, but I feel helpless here. What do I do? How do I atone for sins of this magnitude? I can't fix this mess.

Do I even need to?

Alice is gone.

She's gone.

I walk through the cemetery gates and spot Jasper leaning against the side of his Mustang. I make my way over to him, chin tucked into my chest, my long skirt brushing against the short, prickly grass at my feet. I don't stop until I'm standing almost  
/a foot away from him.

It's silent for one, two heartbeats and then I ask "Do you think Alice would hate me?" Because I need to know, need to be sure that she would forgive me for what I've done. It's important, vital, that I know that I'm not completely irredeemable.

"I think she would hate to see you like this. She hated seeing you sad."

"Then why did she do this to me?"

"I don't know Bella," he answers honestly. And his voice is kind of sad. I hate that I'm making him feel even worse. But if anyone understands what I'm feeling, Jasper does. I don't know how he handles it. How he compartmentalizes everything that has  
/happened and his feelings about it all. I wish I could be that calm and cool and collected.

"How do you do it?" I ask.

"Do what?" Jasper looks bewildered.

"Deal with it. The guilt, and... everything else."

"What makes you think I'm dealing with it?" I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. "Furthermore," he says, coming to stand just a little bit closer, "what makes you think I feel any guilt?"

"Do you?"

"Sometimes," he admits. "I don't regret it," He clarifies. "I might regret how it happened." I nod my head slowly, because I don't really understand, but I'm trying to.

"Will you answer my questions?" I ask, backing up a step. Jasper smirks and looks down at his feet.

"Probably not."

"Please," I beg. "Please." He looks at me, really looks at me and he must see something desperate and fractured and fucking _helpless_ in my eyes because he nods his head once.

I don't waste any time.

"Did Alice know?" He nods his head. "Do you-" I stumble over the right words. "Do you have-" Jasper shakes his head.

"You're not asking the right questions."

"Fine, are you in love with me?"

Jasper laughs. "Love?" he scoffs. "I don't fucking think so." I bite my lip, trying not to say anything because, _ouch_. That was harsh, but what was I expecting?

"So you just fucked me because-"

"I feel _things_ for you," he reluctantly admits. "I don't really know how to-"

"You don't have to explain-"

"You should probably hear it, though," he interrupts. "You're not crazy." I nod my head again, eyes wide in my face, lips pursed together to keep from speaking. "Yes, Alice knew. Edward did, too. He made me promise not to act on these _feelings_ ,"  
/he says the word like it's a curse and I flinch. "Not that I ever planned on it. I was with Alice, I would have never cheated on her." I flinch again. Jasper doesn't catch it at first, and then he's rubbing the back of his neck, eyes glued to mine.  
/"I'm sorry," he says, and I can tell that he means it.

"It's okay."

"No it's not."

"You're right, it's not."

"Edward knew first. I don't know how Alice figured it out. She was always intuitive though, so it didn't surprise me as much as it should have when she broke up with me." I swallow thickly. I'm glad that I'm finally getting answers, but after hearing  
/all that Jasper has to say, I want to take it back. Feign ignorance until the day I die, because this is all too much, too much.

I shouldn't even be talking to him. Edward is going to be so angry if he finds out, and then he'll never want me again. And why the fuck would I throw that relationship away for someone who doesn't even really know how he feels about me. Edward loves  
/me, for Gods sake. Jasper just... _feels_ things. I don't even really know what that means, but instead of making me nervous and nauseous like it should it makes me _feel_ things, too.

And I shouldn't, because this is Jasper and he's rude and crass and cold and his words are brutal and unforgiving and he makes me absolutely _crazy._

But I can't help it.

"Did I answer all your questions, or do you wish to interrogate me some more?"

"I wasn't interrogating you." I roll my eyes.

Jasper doesn't say anything, but he doesn't get into his car either.

"We probably shouldn't do this anymore," I say.

"Do what?" He asks, nose scrunched up and eyes narrowed. "Talk?"

"Yeah, talk, whatever it is we're doing right now."

"Why not?" He asks.

"Do you even have to ask?"

"Fine," he concedes.

"Jasper, wait-" He turns around and stalks over to the drivers side door, pulling it open just a little harder than necessary. But when he turns around, his face is carefully blank again.

"If Edward really loved you," he says, voice clear as a bell "he wouldn't have broken up with you. He wouldn't be trying to pawn you off on some therapist. He wouldn't be making you feel like this, like you're crazy." I furrow my brow.

"But I-"

"Bella," Jasper says softly, and my eyes snap up to meet his because his voice is gentle and demanding. It makes my insides twist. "You made a mistake. Given the circumstances, he should understand. Not try to belittle you by telling you you need to go  
/see a therapist."

I don't think he's one hundred percent right, but both Edward and Jasper make sense. And instead of feeling clarity, I feel more confused than ever. I don't know who is right anymore. If I'm crazy or if this is normal when you lose someone... like Alice.

"Feel however the fuck you want to feel, Bella," Jasper sighs. "What happened is not okay. And you are not going to be okay. Edward wants you to be the same Bella that he's always known, but you are never going to be that girl again. And that's okay."  
/Everything Jasper is saying, he is saying with his eyes, and I can't- I'm lost in them, drowning in them. "You're going to be okay. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not even anytime soon. But you will." I smile, I can't help it, because this is exactly  
/what I wanted to hear, what I needed to hear. "Someday."

"Someday," I repeat.

"Yes," he says. "Someday, you'll be okay."


	12. Eight of Cups

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight.

Song for this chapter- Tom Freund- Copper Moon.

Eight of Cups- Escapism, abandonment, disappointment, withdrawal, hopelessness, aimless drifting, walking away.

Ch. 12

2 MonthsAgo...

I'm in sixth hour, the last class of the day, when I get the text message that changes everything.

Alice checked herself out. We can't get a hold of her.

It's from my mom and I try not to freak out, try to hold it together but I am shaking and sweating and biting my lip until I taste blood burst across my teeth and tongue. It drips onto the desk in front of me and Edward sucks in a harsh breath.

"Jesus, Bella, are you okay?" I shake my head because no, no I'm not okay. None of this is okay.

I text her.

What the fuck Alice? Come home. Mom and dad are worried about you.

I'm so angry. So fucking _angry_ at her for putting us through this again. I thought that this was finally going to be it. That Alice was finally going to commit to getting better. How fucking stupid was I?

When the bell finally rings, I rush up to the door, trying to squeeze through the mass of bodies crowding the exit. Edward is right behind me, grabbing on to my bag as I rush forward towards the parking lot.

"Hold on, Bella, where are you going?"

"Alice checked herself out. She'll probably be home soon, and when she walks in the door, I want to be there so I can kick her ass." I finally make it to my car, stuffing my bag onto the passenger side floor. Edward runs around to the other side and climbs  
/in.

"You don't have to come with me, Edward," I sigh, flipping my phone around in my hands. Up, down, up, down.

"Do you not want me there?" He asks, suddenly shy. And I do, but I don't.

I don't.

Because Edward's dad is a doctor, and so Edward likes to look at things from a very clinical, very impersonal perspective. Which isn't bad. Except that he doesn't understand, not _really_. Has no idea what this disease, this _sickness_ , actually _does_ to  
/a family. Alice has been signing herself in and out of rehab, disappearing for a couple days before finally showing back up at the house, crying and saying that she's sorry. This isn't the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last.

And then it's as though nothing has changed. She comes home and reads the nutrition label on the back of a box of crackers and then counts, counts, counts. And then she disappears in her room for the rest of her- more often than not- infrequent visit  
/home.

I can't take it anymore.

But Edward doesn't get it. He doesn't understand that the therapy is not working on her. Because she's still fucking sick. She's not getting better. She comes home and she loses all the weight she gained in rehab, and then she checks herself back in a  
/few pounds lighter than the last time. And fuck, I know that my parents aren't super concerned about the cost, but rehab is _expensive_. And it's not fucking _working_.

But the only other person who understood, who fought for her, is gone. And I really don't want to have to face my parents alone, so I nod my head.

"It's okay, I want you to come." Edward smiles a quick smile, buckling his seat belt and throwing his backpack on the seat next to me. I quickly put the car into gear and swing out of the parking lot, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

When I open the front door, I can hear my parents talking in the study, off to my right.

"They've filed a court order, she has to comply."

I tune them out. They've been trying to declare Alice as mentally unfit to make her own medical decisions so that they can be made her legal guardians. That way they can put her in a clinic- where she'll _stay_. They're not having as easy a time  
/as they thought.

And Edward doesn't want to get into this stuff with me because it's real, it's there. It's the other side of the equation, the other side to the story.

Edward follows me up the stairs and we shut the door behind us, spreading out our homework and losing ourselves in advanced calculus.

A week later, Alice misses my birthday.

"I'm calling him," I say quietly, staring at my phone.

"Do you think that's really a good idea? We haven't seen him or spoken to him in almost amonth."

"He might have heard from Alice. I don't even know if he knows that she's missing."

"They broke up."

"Who cares?"

"I just don't think it's a good idea for you to call him," Edward sighs.

I dial the numbers anyways. "Wouldn't you want someone to call you if we broke up and something had happened to me?" Edward sighs and rolls his eyes.

I hit send but Jasper's voicemail picks up. I'm not even surprised.

He doesn't ever call back. I spend a week driving by his house, looking for his car in the car port. The apartment is oddly quiet and dark, even in the day time. Eventually all of my calls go straight to voicemail. The phone doesn't even ring. I've bittenmy  
/nails down to stubs and continue to bite at the skin there while I sit in my car on a Friday and wait to see if he rolls up in his shitty mustang.

I leave one more message before turning my key in the ignition and heading home.

After dinner that night, Edward and I decide to go outside and make a fire since the weather is finally warm enough. It's the end of February, and this year the snow has melted pretty early. It's still really chilly, so I slip into a sweater and some  
/leggings, pulling a loose pair of jeans over them. Edward is bundled up in a scarf and a sweatshirt. He rips apart pieces of newspaper and tosses them beneath the logs. He sets one piece aflame and I watch with misty eyes as the logs catch fire  
/sit next to each other in lawn chairs as close to the fire as we comfortably can, in silence. I close my eyes and let the flames warm my face. I try not to think about her and it's easy; easy to completely shut my brain down. Almost too easy. Isee  
/the flames dance from beneath closed eyelids and it's as though there's two curtains, one red, one orange, billowing against the inky blacks and muted grays of my closed eyes.

"Jasper," I hear Edward say, startled, and my eyes snap open. Jasper doesn't say anything, he just pulls a chair up and sits on the other side of me. I can tell by his expression that he has been avoiding me. His eyes are downcast, empty and sad. He restshis  
/elbows on his knees and threads his fingers through too greasy hair.

"You haven't heard from her, have you?" I ask, but I already know the answer, can see it in the way that he stares into the flames the same way that I did. Edward is twisting the cap to his water bottle- on, off, on, off. Jasper shakes his head a moment  
/later and I bite my lip, because suddenly there's a distracting lump stuck in my throat and I just know that I'm about to cry.

This is so different to the other times that Alice left. She would normally stay with a friend and call my mom or dad to let them know that she was alright, even if she was mad- and most of the time she was.

"How long has it been?" Jasper asks, voice tight. He locks eyes with mine and I'm lost, lost, lost because I don't see anything like emotion in his eyes. I see _me_. And that terrifies me. He looks scared. And this is _Jasper_ , which makes  
/it even more disconcerting because if he's scared then something must be really wrong.

"It's been two weeks," Edward answers reluctantly. I bite my lip harder, it's swollen and chapped and tastes like copper pennies.

"Please tell me she's called you, said something to you," Jasper shakes his head before I even finish and I know that he's telling the truth; knew before I even asked but I just _had_ to.

We don't say much else, we all kind of get lost in the fire, each distracted by our own thoughts and I know that at least mine and Jasper's are similar. Edward sits distractedly next to me, occasionally glancing across the building flames towards Jasperor  
/me. His eyes are dark and fire-kissed, the same green as the towering trees of the forest at night. I lose myself in the color of them, and the heat coming off Jasper's arm that rests next to me and eventually, everything turns black.

A while later, I wake up to the dying embers of the fire. The sky is kissed with blue the same color as the ocean before a storm and dotted with blinking stars. Edward is next to me, his eyes closed, his face relaxed and free of trouble. I realize reluctantlythat  
/I've put him through a lot the past couple months and suddenly my gut clenches with regret.

"He fell asleep a couple minutes ago. Don't wake him up."

"I wasn't going to," I reply, my cheeks warm.

Jasper's silent after that, staring into the bottom of the fire pit with eyes that look haunted, hypnotized.

"She'll call, Bella." I shake my head and Jasper's eyes snap to mine. It's hard to see, it's still too early for sunrise, but I can tell that he's surprised.

"I don't think she will," I say quietly, reluctantly. Jasper's brows furrow and he leans forward in his seat next to mine, the sleeve of his sweater brushing against my arm. It's warm and I shiver, realizing suddenly how cold it is outside.

"Why would you say that?" He asks.

I could lie. I could tell him that I don't know for sure. That I'm just speaking out of anger, really, because it makes sense, but there's more. It's this feeling, intrinsic and overwhelming and I know without a doubt that something is wrong. I can't  
/tell what it is, I only know that something doesn't feel right about this time.

"Because I know something is wrong. This isn't like Alice. Something is wrong, Jasper." And instead of making fun of me or trying to make me feel better, Jasper simply nods his head and grabs my hand in his, which is warm and dry and rough. I swallowback  
/the awkwardness and try not to cry, but it's hard.

The unknown. It's a scary thought in and of itself, but it's terrifying when it comes to someone you know; someone you love. Jasper pulls me closer to him and I can smell him. Vanilla and cigarette smoke and car oil and leather and I breathe it in, thinkingabout  
/Alice and all the times she used to do the same thing. She would complain about how he smelt like a garage and she hated that he smoked, but right now, it's my favorite smell in the entire world.

I tuck my head into his shoulder and I'm trying to be quiet, but it's almost impossible and it's not like it matters, because Jasper puts his hand beneath my chin tries to lift my face, but I bury myself further into his side until his face is almost  
/right next to mine and I think that maybe he's crying, too.


	13. Page of Pentacles

Disclaimer: Twilight is not mine.

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get posted. I know that I'm becoming lax in my updating.

I promise I will FINISH this story. That much hasn't changed.

Page of Pentacles- The **Page of Pentacles** shows a young man who stands alone in a field full of freshly blossoming flowers. ... The **Page of Pentacles** , like the pages of all the suits, is a card of new beginnings, of inspiration  
/and the initial stages of a creative project or venture.

Song for this chapter- Hurts Like Hell- Fleurie

Chapter 13

I idle in the driveway for longer than necessary. Long enough that eventually, Mrs. Cullen comes over to the car and asks if everything is alright. I don't really know what the answer is so I nod and follow her up the driveway into the house.

Edward's home looks similar to Rosalie's. It's almost identical to my house on the outside, much larger than Rosalie's charming little bungalow. On the inside though, is where you begin to see the similarities. There are a plethora of family pictures  
/and Polaroids littered along the mantle. Warm Persian rugs make the large space look cozy and inviting. The windows are open, the sheer ivory curtains fluttering in the breeze. I take a deep breath. The air doesn't smell like disinfectant and expensive  
/perfume like my house does. It smells of fresh-baked food and incense and of the flowers that grow like weeds beneath the windows. This place has always felt like a second home to me, and I'm scared that that is going to change. I make my way up the  
/winding staircase to Edward's room. Inside, I see walls and shelves and a bed that is all Edward. A Fork's High School Spartan head sticker plastered across the ceiling. There are books on car restoration and sports and music lining his bookshelves.  
/A tangled blue comforter sits in the middle of his mattress. I make my way over to his bed and sit on the edge close to the wall, tucking my feet beneath me.

Edward emerges from the adjoining bathroom a moment later, clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He runs the towel through his hair and pulls it away to reveal wet spiky strands in wild disarray. I laugh and then cover my mouth.

"My hair is no laughing matter," he says. And I bite my lip trying in vein to hide my amusement. Edward makes his way over to me and pulls me closer to him. "I've missed you," he says and I can feel the truth all the way down to my toes. But he's not  
/looking at me like he used to and I wonder if it's ever going to change. If it's ever going to be like it was before. I want it to be like that.

So I kiss him.

Edward hesitates only a moment before he's kissing me back and pushing me backwards onto the mattress. His movements aren't gentle or beautiful but I don't need them to be right now. My fingers grab his shoulders, hard and straining beneath the thin cotton  
/of his t-shirt.

"Bella," Edward whispers, but I shush him with my mouth over his and he complies with a satisfied groan. My back arches off the mattress as Edward kisses his way down my jaw and neck, mumbling beneath his breath. It feels good, great, my hands reach up  
/behind me and I clutch Edwards sheets in my palms, the fabric schockingly stiff between my fingers. I freeze.

And then I'm lifting the fabric in front of my face, over Edward's shoulders and it's not his sheets at all.

It's a bra.

It's a red bra, stitched over with maroon lace.

It's about three sizes too big to be mine.

And I know it's not his.

"Edward," I whisper, and part of me wants to stuff the stupid thing down between his mattress and his wall, want to pretend that nothing has happened and that everything can go back to the way that things were but my stomach is knotted and my palms are  
/suddenly sweaty and I don't want to look at that stupid fucking sticker on his ceiling anymore.

"Edward," I say more firmly, and he snaps up, his eyes hooded and more than a little confused.

"What the fuck is this?" I want to sound firm, mean, angry, enraged, something more. But there's nothing in my voice. No emotion.

And there's a part of me that already _knows,_ intrinsically just what he's done. Edward's eyes are wide.

"It's probably-"

"Try again," I say simply.

Edward rubs a hand over his face and sighs, and it's then, right then, that I know that nothing can fix us. Because what I did with Jasper holds a lot of weight. More weight than Edward wanted to let on, apparently, and I'm not naive enough to think that  
/he did this to get back at me because of what I did to him, but I do know that I was remorseful, I was repentant, my heart broken and smothered and empty.

And Edward just _sighs_. Again.

And suddenly it's the worst sound I've ever heard in my life and all I want to do is leave, get up and get the fuck out of this house because suddenly I can barely _breathe_ here.

"E-Explain," I stutter out. And Edward lowers his hand from his face, his eyes wide and guilty, his jaw set.

"It's Tanya's."

And just like that, I don't need a fucking explanation. I don't want one, even though I deserve one.

Or maybe I don't, who knows.

All I know is that I have to get out of here because this room is stifling. And my heart feels like it's actually cracking in half.

"It's not what you think," Edward tries to say, stumbling behind me as I grab my bag and pull my jacket on, making my way out of his room.

"Oh?"

"Okay, after the party, the night I found out, I went home, and got smashed. Tanya followed me."

"Then it sounds exactly like I think."

"Bella," Edward begins. I hold up my hand to stop him. And it's as though that motion suddenly paints everything into perspective for me. Edward and I have dated for four years and I'm about to throw that away because he _maybe_ did the same thing  
/that I did to him? But fuck, I can't _breathe_ and I'm thinking to myself how is this possibly fair? It's not even close to being the same thing. I could forgive him if it were anyone else, under any other circumstances. But suddenly, I am sure  
/that I will never get past this. I can never forgive this.

"This," I point between the two of us, "what happened, it's not the same." Edward's eyebrows furrow.

"The hell it's not," he says, and I want to scream, cry, bang my head against a wall because seriously when did all of this get so fucked up?

"It's not. This, I will never forgive you for this." I shake my head, trying to work my way past him. He reaches out and grabs my arm and pulls me back.

"How is it not? You cheated on me with my best friend!" He yells.

"And what? You had to get revenge? What the hell, Edward?" He shrugs his shoulders. "I hate Tanya. I never meant to hurt you, and I am so sorry for what I did to you. But I won't forget this, nor can I forgive it. It's not the same, because I was sorry.  
/Look at you, it's like you don't even care." Edward sighs dejectedly, his shoulders dropping.

"I'm so sick of playing games, Bella," he says. His eyes shining. " I want things to go back to the way that they were before everything fell apart."

"I do, too," I admit, "but it's never going to happen. I can't take back what I did anymore than you can. But this isn't what you do to someone you love. I made a huge mistake, and I am so fucking sorry that I hurt you, but you can't keep punishing me  
/forever for it, Edward." His eyes are dark as he listens, his jaw taut as he swallows noisily.

"I can't do this anymore," I whisper.

"Why?" Edward asks desperately. "Is it because of Tanya, because she means nothing to me, I swear it. I want to be with _you_ "

"Then why would you do that? Why would you sleep with her?" Edward shakes his head and steels himself, taking a huge breath and letting it out all at once and I know that his answer is not going to be pretty. It's not going to be what I want to hear.  
/I brace myself.

Edward sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, his eyes thick with unshed tears. He sniffs once, and then whispers, "I wanted you to hate me like I hated you." I feel like I've been slapped.

And it's definitely not pretty, and it's definitely something I did not want to hear. But I deserve it. Or at least, I thought that I did. Until now. And even though I know that I fucked up, even though I wish I could it back and do everything all over  
/again, I suddenly feel as though I've woken up. Everything around me is clearer and brighter and uglier and messier. Edward toeing the carpet like he's made a kindergarten sized mistake makes me feel bitter and sick. And it's stupid, it's juvenile,  
/a thought that has no place here, with us, but it flashes through my mind anyways. I can't help but think that if Jasper were in Edward's shoes, he wouldn't even apologize, and I wonder why I think that that would be any better. But I know it would.

I swallow back the bile in my throat and push around Edward towards the staircase, stumbling down the stairs and nearly bolting for the door.

"Wait," Edward calls out behind me and I'm tempted to ignore him, to turn around and do nothing, say nothing. Instead I wait.

"Where does this leave us?" He asks, concern thick in his voice. I shake my head, because I am so fucking lost. I can't work my way through this overwhelming amount of shit in five minutes.

And then I wonder if I should even be trying to fix these things. Any of them. I can't take back what I did, I can't fix it, and Edward can't just decide to get even to settle the score, because now things are even more fucked up that they were, and do  
/I really need to be trying to navigate my way through this type of heavy, adult bullshit after my sisters brutal, unflinching death?

Is this all worth it?

And suddenly, like a star blinking out into eternal blackness, the answer hits me with life changing force.

No, it's not worth it at all.


	14. Five of Cups

A/N: IM NOT DEAD, I PROMISE. Thank you to everyone who is still sticking with me on this one. I really appreciated all of the new reviews from the last chapter. Just a heads upguys, this one was somewhatdifficult to is officially  
the LAST flashback from here on out, nothing but present day! Oh, and I'm sure there will be a couple Jasper/Bella moments in there that will makeit worth your while (:

Songs for this chapter- Allman Brown- Between the Wars

Allman Brown- Rivers

Five of Cups: difficulty, loss, and the challenges of dealing with that loss.

One Month Ago...

Mom calls me at lunch to tell me that the police have found Alice. And then she tells me to come home. Alone.

I walk down to the office in a state of shock, I guess; it feels as though I'm marching through a thick, impenetrable fog and everything is moving in slow motion. I grab the hall pass from Mrs. Cope dazedly and make way out into the parking lot where  
/a light rain has started up. My thoughts are jumbled and messy. I'm scared to see the state of disrepair that Alice has more than likely shown up in. Whether she's well enough to check back into rehab or if she has to be hospitalized again. That  
last

/thought makes my stomach roll and I close my eyes, trying not to think about wrists that are so small they could break, or hipbones that poke through clothes.

One my way home, I leave the radio off, trying to mentally prepare myself for the screaming match I'm sure to walk into when I get home. I'm nervous, but I'm also relived because for a while there I wasn't sure we would ever be able to find Alice.

The roads are slick with a sticky, humid blanketing of fresh rain that gleams like plastic wrap laid across the concrete street. I clutch my steering wheel with white fingertips and turn into the driveway parking next to the cop car still sat in the driveway.

I make my way up the walk slowly, trying to put as much space as possible between me and the mess behind the door. I want to see Alice, but I don't and that makes me sad.

Or angry, I can't even tell anymore.

With a deep breath, I open the front door and stop.

It's quiet, in the most disarming sort of way possible.

I look up the staircase, trying to peek around the corner to where Alice's room is. The door is shut and I breathe a little easier knowing that I've missed the bulk of the arguing.

I make my way to the kitchen and pull a water bottle out of the fridge.

A throat clears behind me.

I jump, startled, pressing my hand against my chest to still the quick thump-thump of my startled heart.

"Jesus, dad, you scared the crap out of me." He doesn't say anything. Hell, he doesn't even look at me. His chin is tucked into his chest, his jacket gone, the first button on his blue oxford shirt unbuttoned. He looks as unkempt as I've ever seen him;  
/and then I see his shoulders shake.

It's only a moment, but it's the most terrifying thing I've ever seen in my life and suddenly the air around us is frigid and charged with anticipation.

He clears his throat again, and I'm lost in the sound, in the thick desperate catching of his breath as he deftly rolls his sleeves back over his forearms and runs a hand over his face. When it falls away, I see that his eyes are red and then my hands  
/are shaking.

"Come with me," he says lowly. I nod and set my water bottle down on the counter as I drag my feet behind me as we make our way towards the living room.

It must be bad.

And then I see my mother, tucked far back into the cushions of the couch, her head nestled into her arm, and the police officers standing across from her.

"Thank you," my dad whispers to them quietly. They nod, faces stoic and empty of emotion. I watch their backs as they retreat towards the front door, trying to ignore my mother crying next to me.

My dad runs his hand back over his face and turns to look at me. His eyes are haunted, his skin pale.

Alice really must not be doing well if my parents are this upset.

"How bad is it?" I ask out loud.

Nobody answers.

Instead, I hear my mom inhale a shaky breath, and then she's standing up, and she's crying, and I don't know what the fuck is going on.

She doesn't even spare me a glace. She just runs a sleeve under her eyes, which does nothing to stem the stream of tears, and shuffles past me with her shoulders hunched. I can hear her quiet sobs as she makes her way back through the kitchen to the foyer.

"Dad?" I try again, my voice quiet and terrified.

My dad sighs, and gestures for me to take a seat. I shake my head. I just want to know what the hell is going on. "No, dad," I sigh tiredly, tryng to sound strong, trying to keep it together. "Is she in the hospital? How bad was it? Just tell me, I can  
/take it." He swallows thickly and I wish that I didn't have to hear what he says next.

"They didn't find Alice, Bella," He whispers brokenly, and then he's crying and oh fuck, whatever I'm missing I hope to God I never find. And then he's saying "They found her body."

And then I can't hear anything anymore.

Or at least I don't think that I can hear anything, because my ears are ringing, like someone has turned the volume down almost impossibly low. But I can see the way that everything plays out as my dad explains how the police found her body. Someone reported  
/a distinct smell from a locked gas station bathroom.

He tells me how the police busted the door down.

His voice is thick and his eyes glassy.

He tells me that they found her emaciated body huddled in the corner, beneath the sink.

He doesn't go into detail.

But then he doesn't need to.

I can picture it so vividly that all I want to do is scream so loud that I drown out the sound of my fathers voice. I can see, like a scene from a horror film, the entirety of it played out against my eyelids. I can feel the pulsing, beating, painful  
/pounding of my heartbeat in my ear and in the tips of my fingers as the police break open the door, splinters of wood spinning past them as the first two step into the bathroom with their guns raised. I see their furrowed brows and pinched noses  
as

/the smell intensifies. The one closest to her small, fragile body leans down, his face drawn and troubled. She looks no more than a girl of fifteen, short black hair matted to the side of her face, and his throat tightens when he glimpses her pale,  
/shadowed face. The skin is stretched taut over her cheekbones, he can see the notches of her ribs through her thin t-shirt as he kneels down and takes her thin wrist into his calloused hand. He already knows before he touches his fingers to the inseam  
/of her arm that he's not going to hear anything; feel anything, but he does it anyways. And then he's yelling over his shoulder, to the group of police officers standing solemnly by the broken bathroom door. "No pulse."

And then I'm bending over and throwing up on the cream colored carpet in the living room, and my dad is rubbing my back and he's saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," and I know that he's not talking to me.

He's talking to her.

And then I'm whispering it, too.

Two days later, my parents have gone down to the morgue and identified her body.

The thought alone makes me want to tear my skin off, to press my eyes out of their sockets. I still can't, don't want to believe that this is happening. Edward tries to call when I don't show up for school, but I don't answer.

I don't speak to anyone.

I sleep in Alice's room.

After my parents have gone to bed, and all the lights are out, I crawl out of my bed and sneak down the hallway into her room.

Everything is the same as before she left. Her bed is made, her vanity a mess of bottles of perfume, scented lotion and makeup compacts. Everything in here smells like her and in some twisted, fucked up way I can still imagine that she's here, in rehab  
/or away at school.

Anything is better than the alternative; the truth.

I make my way over to her vanity and look at the pictures that frame the edge of her mirror. There are pictures of her with the art club, posing and laughing. There are several of her and Jasper together, her petite frame tucked beneath his arms, a blinding  
/smile on her face. There's one of Alice, Rosalie and me at one of my cheer competitions, and several of the four of us.

Of Jasper, Alice, Edward and I.

I know I need to call them. I need to let everyone know what's going on. But I just want a little more time with my sister. Even though she's not here. I need some time, some space from everything, from this whole mess.

From this life.

I want to feel her, I want to hear her, smell her, remember every small insignificant detail about her and I can't and it's making me crazy. I don't know what to do, how to remember, how to compartmentalize what has happened and just how much we've lost.

Who we've lost, and what she meant to me and what it means now that she's not here.

She's not here.

And I'm so fucking tired.

So I peel back the covers, and I'm taken aback by a faint scent that is so undeniably Alice that I can feel the tears pressing against my eyelids and I can feel the stutter of breath stuck in my chest, and the tightness in my throat. And I don't want  
/to fucking lose it, but what the hell Alice?

How could you leave? How could you leave? How could you do this to me?

What am I supposed to do without you?

The tears don't fall, and my breath doesn't come easy but I pull the covers up to my nose and try to inhale, so deeply that my chest physically aches from the sheer force, that smell that is simply Alice. I remember smelling that smell as she hugged me,  
/when she would borrow my clothes or when I would borrow hers.

Come back.

Don't leave me, why did you have to leave me?

And my head is in her pillow and I can't breathe anymore but that's okay, because her smell here is sooverwhelming, I can almost feel it soaking into my clothes, my bones. I flip over and stare at the ceiling, trying to calm my racing heart, but

I can't.

So I make my way over to my room and shut the door, and everything here smells like me and I hate it., but it's all that I have.

So I lay in my bed and I stare at the ceiling and I look for Alice in my dreams.

But I can't find her anywhere...


	15. The Wheel of Fortune

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight.

A/N: BOOM. Double update, because I adore youpeople. Also, there is MAJOR Jasper/ Bella interaction ahead and, well, you'll just have to see for yourselves...

Song for this chapter-

Hey Rosetta!- We Made a Pact

Black Coast- Ride

The Wheel of Fortune- The Wheel of Fortune is the Gods spinning their wheel over our lives. We are at their mercy and where it lands, only they truly know. It is fate, divine intervention, and all things we don't understand.

PART TWO: ANGER.

I try to make a list to stay organized but it's hard because I know that I'm forgetting things. Every time I try to leave the house, I have to turn around to grab random things. A map, a pair of sunglasses, my favorite shade of lipstick, a white sundress.  
/I don't need any of these things. Except for the sunglasses and the map, maybe. I try not to admit that maybe I'm procrastinating. I hate to think that I'm holding on to anything here, because there's nothing. Alice is gone, my parents have buried  
/themselves in work, Edward has- I don't even want to think about it. Rosalie is the only one that knows where it is that I'm going; what I'm doing. There's no reason that I shouldn't already be long gone.

I feel like something is holding me back though.

I won't even think his name.

I promise myself that this is the last trip that I will be making home. I've almost wasted half a tank of gas making it to the Fork's border and then back to my house on three separate occasions, and I refuse to waste anymore precious time. I want to  
/get out of here; no I need to get out of here.

It's been exactly one week since I found out about Edward and Tanya. Exactly two days since school let out. Between exams and dreaming up the idea for this little road-trip I haven't had time to dwell on Edward and what this all could mean. My shoulders  
/feel heavy, my head a jumbled, confused mess. I studied, finished my exams, and tried to avoid everyone at school with an overwhelming amount of success.

Although, Edward went out of his way to avoid me, too.

I don't know what to make of that, but I try to push it to the back of my mind.

Rosalie hung by me through the last week of school, and through exams, choosing to study with me in order to help me forget about my messy relationship and subsequent breakup with Edward.

I haven't had time to grieve the loss of our four year relationship and I feel weirdly empty in a way that I never have before. The chill of it is startling.

I don't get the idea for the road-trip until Exams are finished and even then it's not _my_ idea.

But then it never was.

"You should go somewhere," Rosalie had said. "Clear your head a little bit." And then I think about Alice, and the trip that we were supposed to take together; the trip that we will never be able to take together, and my heart clenches.

I don't even need convincing.

After all, we promised each other that we would take this trip. Even though that was before, before she-

But with everything going on, with losing Alice and Edward and Jasper, all in different heart-shattering ways- I don't think Rosalie has ever had a more perfect idea in her life.

She never thought that I would take her seriously. I'm a dreamer, not a doer, she used to tell me. And for years, it was true. I was content to stay in my little bubble, oblivious to everything going on around me until it was shoved in my face. Until  
/Alice got sick. Even then I tried to ignore our problems. Deny, deny, deny.

And then Rosalie suggested taking some time off, some time away, and I didn't want to ignore and deny any more.

And even though Alice was no longer with me, I wanted to give her the trip that she deserved to have before she died.

I had spent so long trying to make everyone else happy that I feel like I haven't even had time to grieve my sister; my sister who meant the earth, moon and stars to me. Who meant everything to me. I lost her and life went on. But that feeling, that hole  
/in the middle of my chest stayed.

And every day it grew a little bit bigger.

And I knew that if I stayed, it would consume me.

So I decided that I would take Rosalie's advice.

I would leave, and find a way to connect with Alice, find a way to grieve my sister the way that I should have all along.

On _our_ road-trip.

I needed to find a way to accept that she was gone, and that nothing would bring her back. I needed to come to terms with my sisters death.

And so I decided to leave.

I throw the Polaroid camera into my bag and make my down the stairs. My parent's aren't home, again, so I don't have to tip-toe out the front door. Once I'm outside, I sling my bag into the back of my rusted pick up truck and climb into the driver's side  
/seat.

It's weird to me all at once that there's not one person that I feel like I need to say goodbye to. My parents are gone at work and I'll break the news to them once I'm on the road and far enough away that they can't go looking for me. As for Edward,  
/part of me thought that maybe he deserved some kind of explanation. But I've realized over the past couple months the amount of strain that we've both put on our relationship. The idea of a clean break from my parents made me crave one with Edward  
/as well. I felt like a hypocrite for freaking out about Tanya, but I realized that our situations weren't the same. As much as I hurt Edward with my deplorable actions the night of Alice's memorial, I couldn't find it in me to forgive Edward about  
/his night with Tanya. Which is okay, because If I'm being honest, he never even asked for it. Even though things have ended on a slightly sour note, I had wished that, with time, Edward and I could learn to forgive each other and remain friends.

I'm not even close to being at that point in my life. I just need to get away for a little while to figure everything out. I've done a decidedly poor job of living my life away from Alice's death. I've made everything the past six months about everyone  
/else, and I know that now it's time that I learn to just let her death be a part of _my_ life.

I'm not quite sure how that's going to happen, but just admitting that it needs to be done is a big step, no? Perhaps I should have gone to see that therapist that Edward was talking about.

I see the mile marker for the Fork's city limits and despite everything, I feel a grin tug at my face. The horizon stretched out in front of me is a beautiful creamsicle colored sunset fading into the stunning baby blue of early evening; the color of  
/a wave cresting in the ocean. The night air is warm, even for early May. Through my open window, I feel the gentle breeze tangling my hair, can smell the cool, clean smell of fresh grass and open road, and for the first time in a while I feel weightless.  
/With my sunglasses sitting loose on the bridge of my nose, I putter past the sign that marks the end of one journey and the beginning of another.

Until my steering wheel starts to shake and the car puffs and jolts to a dead stop.

Damn.

I think about calling Jake, my family's mechanic, but then I think about how he might tell my parents about my little impromptu road-trip and immediately scrap the idea. That leaves...

No.

No way.

I try to come up with another alternative. The closest shop, located in the next town over, is decidedly far and the sky is just starting to get dark. Thinking quickly, I pull my car off to the side of the road, and walk across the street to the liquor  
/store there. Inside, I call Rosalie.

"Hey," I whisper in to the receiver.

"Dude, what are you doing? Didn't you leave like an hour ago? Why are you already calling me?" She asks, laughing. I shake my head, picking up a bag of Cheetos and a bottle of wine and pulling out my fake I.D, before handing it to the cashier. She looks  
/at it with a face full of doubt, but she hands the items over to me with no trouble. I throw her what I hope is a charming smile and walk back out to my truck. I swing the back hatch down and sit on the edge of the tailgate, twisting the lid off  
/the

/cheap bottle of wine, before taking a big sip.

"Yeah, I did, here's the thing..." I swallow again, cringing. "The truck broke down. Think you could drive out here and take a look?" I open the Cheetos and start snacking while I wait for her to answer, but her silence has me biting my lip and wiping  
/my palms on my jeans. "Rosalie?" I try again.

"Hells Bells, you know that's just a hobby." I snort.

"You took one year of auto shop, right?" I ask her.

"It's not the same. I told you that piece of junk belonged in the trash-"

"-Hey that's my baby you're talking about-"

"-you need a real mechanic, Bells." She sighs dramatically, and then quietly she says, "Just call him."

I shake my head, twisting and untwisting the cap to the wine bottle. "You know I can't do that, Rosie." She's silent for a moment and then she huffs, clearly frustrated. "You know what, Bella?" She asks, her tone light. "I'll come out and see what I can  
/do, but I make no promises."

Thirty minutes later, I am happy drunk, almost completely finished with the bottle of cheap Cabernet I got from the gas station when I hear a loud rumbling making it's way down the street. The car idles and then stops a few feet from the truck and I struggle  
/to get up in my dress from where I'm laying across the tail gate.

"Thank God, you're here," I mumble, but then I get a look at the car, and the boy with unmistakeable messy blonde waves leaning against the door, and freeze.

"You sure about that?" He asks. And I can't tell if he's angry or amused; can't get a read on his emotions whatsoever, but then, when have I ever been able to?

"Car trouble, Miss?" He asks with narrowed eyes and a devious smirk.

"So what, Rosalie made Peter call you or what?"

"Something like that," Jasper mumbles as he makes his way over to my truck. Jasper walks around to the drivers side and deftly pops the hood. "So, what happened?"

I sigh, running a hand over my face, trying to collect my thoughts. Jasper's presence here has thrown me for a loop and I suddenly realize that I'm not entirely sober enough for this.

"Edward slept with Tanya." Jasper's head pops out from beneath my hood, his eyes strangely calm. "And my parent's are always busy with work. I just need to get away for a little while." I feel like a child explaining to their parents why they colored  
/on the walls or something. My face is red, I can tell, and I take the last sip of shitty wine to quell the nervous excitement bubbling in my stomach. "Alice always wanted to take a road trip after she got better, but," I pause, trying to push the  
/memory to the back of my mind. "I just need to leave." Jasper nods his head and rubs his hands on his weathered jeans.

"I meant with the car," he says simply, gesturing towards the engine.

"Oh," I blush red from the tips of my ears to the top of my chest. "Right, it just kind of sputtered out and died."

"I'm not surprised." Jasper whispers beneath his breath. I roll my eyes, coming around to stand next to him. He tinkers with a few things, and then he walks back to his car and grabs one of the little rolly skateboard things so he can slide underneath  
/the car.

"You wouldn't have made it to the Washington state border in the piece of crap," he explains. His voice is muffled by the engine but I can still hear him and I pinch the bridge of my nose in irritation.

This is the last thing I need to be dealing with right now.

All I wanted was a few weeks of fucking peace, to leave everything behind.

Including him.

Fuck, I don't need this.

I walk across the street without saying anything and grab something a little bit stronger. This time, the woman's gaze is a little unsettling, as though she can see right through me, and I falter.

Outside, the breeze has picked up as I take the first swig from the bottle before making my way back over to Jasper. I hand the bottle to him wordlessly and he takes a large gulp before handing it back and sticking his face back beneath the hood. I lie  
/back against the tail gate and stare at the stars and am lulled into an almost sleep by the rhythmic tick tick bang of tools and metal.

A little while later, Jasper comes to stand at the back of the truck.

"Bella," he whispers. I jerk awake and pull myself up and immediately regret it when I see three Jaspers standing before me.

"Jesus," I mutter, closing my eyes against the dizziness.

"Not even close," Jasper deadpans.

"Ha ha, that's cute." I breathe in through my nose and squint my eyes up at him. "What's the diagnosis, Doc?" I ask, rubbing my hand across my forehead to peel the sticky hair away from my cheek.

"The diagnosis is that I'm surprised your car has lasted this long." Jasper states bluntly. "You have over three hundred thousand miles on this thing."

"And?" I ask petulantly.

"And, it's not going anywhere else, except maybe to a junk yard. The truck is done for, Bella."

"There's nothing you can do?"

"If I was _Jesus_ , maybe. I can't just pull a miracle of this magnitude out of my ass, Bells. I mean, when was the last time you got an oil change for Christ's sake?"

"How often are you supposed to get them?"

" _Bella."_

"Okay, _I get it_ , leaving with the truck is not an option." I hop off the edge of truck and walk towards the drivers side door and start to pace.

There has to be another option, anything is more appealing than getting my baby towed back in and walking to my parents door with my tail tucked between my legs before I even go to leave the city.

"Do you know anyone selling a car?" I ask, only half-joking.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, yes, I don't know. I just wanted to do this so badly." Jasper comes around to where I'm standing and leans against the side of the truck, watching me continue to pace with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. "I feel like I've barely had time to mourn Alice,  
/or maybe I have and I'm not doing it right, whatever it is, I don't feel close to her anymore, and I just want to leave to get away from everything that's suffocating me here." I look to Jasper, who's very obviously deep in thought. "Have you ever  
/felt like that?" And Jasper's eyes snap to mine, and I can tell before he even says anything what the answer is.

"Yes."

"So come with me."

I say it before thinking. Jasper laughs and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"You don't want me to come with you," he says.

"I'm sorry, that was really forward, I wasn't thinking." Jasper grimaces as I come to lean up against the truck beside him. This close, I can smell motor oil and cigarette smoke and the scent coats the inside of my nose until it's all that I can smell.  
/I look away from the promising horizon, back towards the black hole that is forks and I sigh.

"I don't want to go back. I just want to see the world's largest frying pan, and the biggest ball of yarn. I need to feel close to Alice again," I run my hands through my wind-tangled hair, and sigh. "I just wanted to be able to leave all of the other  
/bullshit behind. What am I supposed to do now?" Jasper doesn't say anything, he just reaches out and takes the bottle of whiskey, swigging it around in his mouth before swallowing noisily.

"I know what you mean," he whispers. "I feel like Alice broke up with me and then all of a sudden she was gone and I still don't really know how to feel about all of it. I feel like I've been living life on autopilot since she passed." I rest my head  
/against the truck, my eyes closed tight because how could he possibly know exactly how I feel. Autopilot. It's the perfect description for how I've been living my life since Alice died.

And suddenly I'm sure. More sure than I've been of anything in the past couple months.

"I know I said it before, but I didn't mean it." Jasper looks confused and I sigh, my tongue seeming thick in my mouth as I try to push the words out. "I think you should come with me." Jasper shakes his head and steps away from the truck to face me.

"It's not a good idea, Bella."

"Why?" I ask, "because of what happened?" Jasper grimaces.

"Among other things."

"Can't we just put that aside for now?" Jasper's eyebrows furrow, his eyes narrowed and disbelieving.

"Easier said than done, Princess."

"We need this," I plead, my voice desperate and scary. Jasper's jaw clenches, but his eyes are looking anywhere but at me, as though he's thinking.

And he is, he's thinking. I try to reign in my conflicting emotions.

"We need to do this, for Alice," I press, taking a step closer to him. I see the skin of his neck stretch as he swallows nervously, his eyes darting around the deserted road.

"I need this." And I try to hide it, try to turn away before he can see the tears falling, but he catches sight of them and his eyebrows rise as though he can't believe what he's seeing.

"Are you crying?"

"No," I reply petulantly, wiping my tears away with my naked wrist.

"Stop crying."

"You can't just tell me to stop crying."

"I just did," Jasper says simply

"How is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I'm not here to make you feel better, Princess," Jasper states coldly. "See what a terrible idea this is? All we do is argue."

"We debate, there's a difference."

Jasper narrows his eyes and then hegrins crookedly, beautifully.I take a step closer. "Please Jasper?"

And I can see that he's breaking and I feel my heart beating harder against my ribs. Jasper looks up at the sky for a moment and then he's looking down at me,his eyes the crispest, clearest green that I've ever seen, and he's taking a step back

and gesturing

for me to follow.

I do so blindly.

And for once, I feel like I'm not alone anymore.

A/N: If you guys happen to follow me on tumblr, and I get enough reviews, I am going to start posting teasers for upcoming chapters, so let's keep those reviews coming in. Thank you so much!


	16. Six of Cups

A/N: I've been super stuck lately, in case you haven't noticed, so I decided to switch things up a a bit.

Six of Cups- Reunion, nostalgia, childhood memories, innocence, a feeling of being stuck in the past.

He tried watching the road, tried looking out the windshield at the blooming pastel clouds, like cotton candy pulled apart and stretched seamlessly across the sky. The sunset was beautiful in the way that it almost hurt to look at. But that feeling could  
not come close, could not possibly compare, to the feeling he would get when he looked at _her_.

She was sleeping. Smooth, flushed cheek pressed up against the glass. He stared straight ahead, his stomach tight and his hands shaking. He was trying to ignore her, trying to ignore the overwhelming presence of her next to him. But he could smell her,  
the scent cloying and dizzying inside the confines of the car. He could hear her breathing, shallow and ragged; could picture her pale pink lips parted as she sucked in a sudden, sharp breath before she jolted awake.

"Where are we?" Her voice was rough and low, thick with sleep and Jasper felt his muscles clench in response.

"Driving," he replied shortly, cursing the tremble he felt in the tips of his fingers as she reached across the middle column and turned down the volume on the radio.

"I got that much," she quipped. "How long have we been driving?" Jasper tried to steady his breathing, tried to get a handle on his emotions, but everything was a jumbled, confusing mess inside his head. He had a killer headache, and to be quite frank,  
felt he could really use a drink.

Without answering, he pulled off onto the nearest exit and looked for somewhere they could eat. His muscles felt cramped, his shoulders stretched taut. He needed to get out of the car, stretch his legs, get as far away from that annoying scent and it's  
accompanying presence that made it feel as though brightly colored stars were bursting across the backs of his eyelids.

Bella didn't ask anymore questions after that. The short drive to the nearest diner was spent in a painful, awkward sort of silence that had Jasper biting the skin around the nail of his thumb.

Finally, he spotted a bar touting the promise of food. With the window rolled down he could smell the faint scent of grease permeating the air, and without Bella's scent to invade his senses, Jasper could feel his stomach groan instead of roll.

"Great," Bella sighed, "I'm starving." He hid a short smile behind his thumb.

They walked through the warm night air into the bar. Inside, the space was almost empty, save for a few men playing pool in a well lit corner of the otherwise dark bar. Jasper walked ahead of Bella and picked a booth for them to sit in. Immediately, she  
snatched up a menu and began scanning its contents.

When the waiter came round to take the order, Jasper asked for a whiskey, neat. Bella gave him a disapproving glare and tried to order a beer for herself. The waiter snorted disbelievingly and brought her a coke, instead.

"So," she began "Where are we exactly?" Jasper downed his whiskey in one large gulp, wincing slightly at the cheap uneasy burn sliding down the back of his throat.

"Some Podunk town in Idaho, I'd imagine." Bella looked shocked, choking slightly on her drink.

"We've driven that far already?" Jasper nodded, his head throbbing, his eyes tight and half-lidded. "And you haven't slept." She worded it as a statement rather than a question. Jasper rolled his neck, feeling the tension running along the seam of his  
bones and muscles. Bella bit her lip, and he looked away, cheeks hot, raising his glass to signal to the waiter that he wanted, no _needed_ , another.

"We should stop," Bella whispered, "at least for the night. You need some rest. And we should plan. There are things Alice-" she broke off, her voice dropping gradually and then suddenly stopping, like a penny rolling off the edge of a cliff. "There are  
things that I'd like to see while we're on this trip. We should make a map or something." Jasper's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"We can stop if you promise to call your parents." Bella seemed to think about it for a while, eating tiny bites of her hamburger while Jasper sipped on his new glass of whiskey. After a few silent minutes, she sighed.

"Fine," She relented. "I'll call them when we get to the hotel." Jasper smirked and downed the rest of his glass.

The hotel turned out to be no more than a pay by the hour type of motel that had Bella making faces before she even exited the car.

"Stop being such a snob," Jasper chided, frowning. His hands were tucked tightly into the pockets of his jacket, his hands empty of any luggage or bags. Bella rolled her eyes and huffed as she pulled her duffel bag out of the car, her thin muscles straining  
under the sleeves of her jacket.

"You could at least help," she sneered, as the duffel bag popped out between the passengers seat and the door, throwing her back a step. Bella stumbled and then righted herself, furrowing her brows at Jasper as he walked backwards into the motel lobby,  
laughing silently to himself.

The inside of the motel offered little comfort to the pair, as the older woman behind the desk looked them up and down disapprovingly.

"What'll it be?" She asks, with no inflection to her voice.

"We need a room," Bella supplies helpfully. Jasper wonders what to do, where to put his hands, whether or not he should speak or stay silent. His stomach is rolling unpleasantly once again, but the feeling is not unfamiliar. He stands behind Bella, her  
head only coming up to his chest, her dark hair fanning wildly behind her in a waving mass. She's gesturing to the receptionist, but Jasper can't hear the words coming out of her mouth, just a low reverberating sound, like that of music coming from  
a room down a deserted hall. Suddenly, he's startled out of his thoughts.

"Is that okay?" Bella asks, her thin eyebrows raised delicately.

"Sure, yeah," Jasper replies without really knowing what he's agreeing to. Bella nods and turns, taking a single key from the receptionist. She gestures for Jasper to follow her, tugging her overloaded duffel bag behind her as she stumbles down the low  
ceilinged hall.

Jasper strolls casually behind her, only stopping to steal the bag from Bella's small hands to heave over his broad shoulder with little effort. She huffs inelegantly and walks beside him, her arms crossed primly across her chest. She turns suddenly towards  
a door with dark marks and dirt smudges splashed across the surface. The door sticks, and Jasper has to push her aside gently in order to shove the door unstuck with his shoulder.

Inside, the room is dark and smells of dust and the faint, lingering touches of mold. Bella gasps as he flicks on the light. Everything is green and yellow, from the bedspread to the walls you could tell once where white. Jasper throws the duffel bag  
onto one of the beds and falls gracelessly onto the other while Bella stands shyly at the mouth of the room.

"I'm going to go call my parents," she says quietly, and Jasper can almost taste her nervousness. He flips over, giving her a concentrated look.

"Tell them I said hi," he replies, with a well practiced smirk. Bella frowns and stumbles out the door and down the hall, never once looking up from the dark screen of her powered off cellphone. He wishes he could hear what she says to them, or whether  
or not she calls Edward or someone else. It seems unlikely considering what she told him before they left Forks together. And then suddenly, he's thinking about Edward, and he wishes he wasn't.

Jasper wonders, briefly what the fuck Edward was thinking when he decided to sleep with that plastic barbie doll. Did he do it out of revenge? Is it his fault their relationship ended? He shakes his head and his eyes throb painfully because he knows the  
truth but he doesn't care. He wishes he did, things would be different then. But Jasper has always been a selfish person, and if Bella was going to give him that chance- then he was never going to deny it;. He simply wouldn't have been able to if  
he tried. Still, it would make things easier if he felt remorse for what they had done. Maybe then he could sympathize with Bella, understand her hurt and her regret. Furthermore, maybe he would have been able to salvage some sort of relationship  
with Edward. As it were, he couldn't find it in his heart to apologize. After all, why apologize for taking something you want so badly that it burns you from the inside out?

Jasper can feel his eyelids stretch tightly across his burning, red-rimmed eyes. The mattress beneath him is hard and pitches slightly to the left, and he thinks briefly that perhaps he would be more comfortable sleeping on the floor. Despite the obnoxious  
mattress and the smell of decay perfuming the air in the cramped motel room, Jasper finds his back relaxing, a feeling like his bones have spontaneously turned to jelly ripples through him and he shivers, his hands clutching a fistful of blanket and  
sheets between his lazy fingers. He wants so desperately to wait up and see Bella, but he can feel his mind going blank, dark and fuzzy, and then sleep hits him with the force of a Mac truck tunneling straight towards him.

In the dim light of the morning, Jasper wakes to find Bella sitting up, wordlessly clicking the the channels on the muted television set. The picture is black and white, the channels basic cable. She's flipping through them and then re-flipping through  
them as if she's not even really looking at the pictures on the screen.

"How did your phone call go?" Jasper asks. His voice is rough and scratchy and he can see Bella swallow thickly before turning her blank stare to him.

"My parents said 'hi'," she replies in a deadpan voice. Jasper runs his fingers through his hair, tugging the strands into a disorganized mess.

"That well, huh?" He throws the covers off and searches blindly for his jacket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and tapping one out into the palm of his hand before lighting it up.

"This is a no smoking room," Bella scolds, a single, arched eyebrow raised in mock indignation.

"Do you seriously think the old bat at the front desk gives a fuck?" Bella raises a shoulder, as if to say 'who knows' and Jasper flicks the ash of his cigarette into an almost empty water bottle. "So, what happened?" Bella sighs, and it's a sound that  
carries weight. Jasper can see the dejected set of her shoulders and bites his lip.

"They want me to come home," she whispers.

"Naturally."

"I'm not going to," and she raises her chin, her voice proud but quivering and he smirks.

"Of course you're not, Princess."

"I can't go home. Not now. We've made it this far, and this feeling, I don't know how to describe it, still feels too big. I need to keep going." She looks at Jasper, big brown eyes wide and vulnerable and he blinks back his surprise. "You still want  
to keep going right?" Her voice is thin and broken, and he imagines that's the feeling that she was trying to describe.

"Yes, we're still going." She sighs, and Jasper doesn't think that he was meant to hear it. "But Bella," he continues, "we need to make a plan." She nods her head, but says nothing in return. "And I need to stop to get a few things," he pulls his sweat  
dampened tee shirt away from his chest. Bella blushes and tries to hide it by coughing into the sleeve of her sweater. Jasper doesn't blink, doesn't give anything away but he's ecstatic that he can still wrangle that type of reaction out of her.

They leave the motel to eat and get gas, and hang out in the parking lot for a while, before trudging reluctantly back into the motel room. Once inside, Jasper starts packing up his wallet and cigarettes, dangling his keys from the tip of one calloused  
finger. "You stay here. I'm going to the store to pick up some stuff," he says quickly, before striding out the door without so much as a glance in her direction.

Once he's out of the motel and in his car, Jasper thinks about just leaving her there and then he wonders where the fuck that thought floated from. Shaking his head, he clamors into the car and revs the engine.

The nearest supermarket is a couple miles away from the bar from the night before, and after Jasper grabs a couple packs of white tees, a toothbrush, some flannels, a pair of jeans and couple pairs of boxers, he makes his way back over.

Three drinks in and Jasper isn't thinking about Bella, or the trip, or their shitty motel room, or what she could be doing back there all alone. He's thinking of something else, and in its own way it's so much worse.

He's thinking of Alice.

It's almost as though he doesn't know where to start. He feels that black hole in his chest, the one Alice left him with, and it feels frigid and all-consuming. He remembers, with a startling clarity, the image of her slowly deteriorating right in front  
of him. Can remember so vividly trying to navigate blindly through the vestiges of her eating disorder and never really knowing what the hell he was doing- if he was helping or hurting her.

He can remember Bella, too, and her own sort of deterioration as Alice got sicker and sicker. He reaches out for his glass with a shaking hand and has to take a deep breath to stave off the cresting wave of nausea. He tries to sweep away the images in  
his brain, like dust-colored cobwebs; tries to think of the better times, the happier times, but he can't and he feels the anger build until his heart feels like it's going to explode into a million little pieces.

And that's really what she did, wasn't it? Shatter Jasper into splinters until there was barely any tangible pieces of his soul left. He hated her for it, hated her for everything that she had put him through, and although he knew it wasn't fair, he couldn't  
help feeling that way. Jasper thought back to Alice, back before things totally went to shit; thought of her blinding smile and her infectious happiness and he could feel his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest.

He wonders how he's supposed to grieve someone that he doesn't know how to feel about. Alice's last words to him ring in his ears and he tries to drown out the sound with more whiskey.

"I know how you feel about her." The taste of alcohol makes his eyes water.

"I can't do this anymore." Jasper scrubs a hand across his face. He can feel the stubble brush across the sensitive flesh at the palm of his hand. He wants to break something, wants to scream at Alice. He kind of feels like crying or punching someone.

He throws some money down on the bar and rushes out the door with a swiftness that makes him stumble. The cold, crisp night air hits him suddenly, and he can feel his throat swell. He pulls the door to his car open and he's gutted by the smell of Bella's  
perfume clinging to the leather interior.

He can't remember when it happened. Only that when it did, it him so hard that he dropped off the edge of that cliff he was clutching at and spiraled to the inky bottom. Suddenly, he stopped seeing Alice and started seeing _her_. Jasper grimaces,  
the flood of guilt leaving a bitter taste, something like ash, in his mouth. His biggest regret isn't that it happened, it's that Alice ever had to find out, and that makes him feel even guiltier. Jasper slams his palm against the metal steering wheel  
and curses before throwing the car into gear and gunning out of the parking lot.

When he reaches the motel room, he tries not to stumble through the door and barely succeeds. The bathroom door is cracked open and he can see light and steam pouring through. The smell of dust and mold is gone, replaced by a scent that is uniquely Bella  
and Jasper falls back onto the mattress with a quiet groan. His buzz is wearing off and all he wants to do is sleep, but images of Alice, both healthy and unwell crop up and then fizzle out in his brain like a series of rapid candid photographs he  
would rather not see. Jasper tries to stop the onslaught of images, tries to think of anything else, but his heart is heavy and his mind feels broken, somehow.

"Where the hell have you been?" Bella's enraged voice startles him out of his thoughts. She's standing at the foot of his bed, thoroughly soaked, wrapped in a frayed towel. Her hair hangs in damp strands that stick to her forehead and drip onto the top  
of her chest. He tries to keep his eyes focused on her face, but it's near impossible. The scent of her, combined with that image, he knows, will haunt him forever.

"I went to the store." Jasper knows that she's unconvinced by the incredulous lilt to her mouth.

"For six hours?" She asks, eyes narrowed.

"What are you, my fucking mother?" He asks hotly.

"Are you drunk?" Bella asks, worriedly. Jasper watches intently as she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth,.

"Yes." He decides not to lie, and to his surprise she doesn't press him. She glides back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with a soundless click. She emerges a moment later in a pair of black and white striped pajama pants and a black tank  
top.

Shit, Jasper thinks, he forgot to grab pajamas. Bella climbs wordlessly beneath the sheets of her bed while Jasper shimmies clumsily out of his jeans before falling onto the tops of his covers with a sleepy huff.

"I want to go to Iowa," Bella says, her voice saturated with exhaustion and the remnants of worry.

"What's in Iowa?" Jasper asks. His voice is neither judgmental nor curious. Bella shrugs, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stares at the ceiling dotted in mold.

"The worlds largest frying pan." She says it without emotion and turns abruptly onto her side. Jasper can see the thick, damp strands of her dark tangled hair clinging to the back of her neck. He wants to ask her questions, but he can hear her breathing  
even out and his heart stutters in his chest. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it, tries to imagine a giant frying panand what kind of appeal that would hold. It's something Alice would like, he thinks. Jasper smiles to himself, closes  
his eyes. He prays his dreams are as peaceful as that last empty, fleeting moment before Bella drifted off to sleep.


	17. Seven of Swords

A/N: Sorry this is taking me so long. Life happened. Anyways, I felt like you guys all deserved a little bit longer of a chapter. Here it is...

Seven of Swords: Betrayal, deception, getting away with something, stealth

Reversed: Mental challenges, breaking free

Chapter 17

"We're fine, Rosalie."

"What do you mean _we_?" She asks, voice raised. I sigh, because we haven't gotten this far yet. I don't know how to explain this unexpected turn of events to her. I'm not even sure that I want to because I feel like I already know what her reaction is going to be.

"Jasper is with me?"

Rosalie whistles, long and low. "Hell's Bells, you've been holding out on me! How the hell did this happen?"

I pace back and forth, one foot in front of the other, on a yellow parking spot divider."My truck died, so he offered to drive."

Not exactly how it happened, but I'm not about to explain that to her. I know she's itching for more information, I can picture her practically vibrating, eyes wide and hungry for details. But she doesn't react the way that I expect her to.

"This is going to be so good for the two of you," she whispers, voice thick with emotion.

I'm startled, and stumble a step forward in surprise. "You think so?"

"Yes, I do." She pauses, and I can hear the long distance crackle between us. "Edward has been asking about you." I breathe out heavily through my nose and run a tired hand across my face. "What should I tell him?" She sounds like she doesn't really care all that much, but then she never has when it comes to Edward.

"Don't worry about it, Rosie," I whisper. "I'll call him." She sighs and then says goodbye, telling my that she loves me before she hangs up the phone.

I scroll through the text messages that I've missed since having powered off my phone and grimace. There are about thirty from just my parents alone. I see Edwards name and cringe.

Can we talk?

Where are you?

What's going on?

I click on his name and hit the send button, my heart hammering wildly in my chest. Jasper is still taking a shower in our latest hotel room, and I know that we won't have a lot of uninterrupted time to talk before he's done.

"Bella," he breathes, his voice sounds relieved.

"Hey, Edward."

"Where are you?" For a moment, I think he sounds like a parent scolding his child. He sounds just like my dad did on the phone the night before.

"I'm in Iowa." He scoffs.

"What for?"

"I'm taking a trip." The line is silent after that, I can practically hear the wheels whirring in his head. Edward takes a deep breath before replying.

"I was hoping that we could talk about things."

"What things?"

Edward pauses before answering and the silence is nearly crushing."We didn't exactly leave things on good terms," he replies lamely.

"That's because we're both shit. We cheated on each other, Edward." I can hear his heavy breathing through the receiver and try to calm my own racing heart.

"We made mistakes, Bella, I want to talk about us." I run my fingers through my tangles, trying to do something, anything with my hands. What I really want to do is punch out a window, or something equally destructive. My fingers snag on a particularly nasty tangle and I grimace.

"What is there to talk about? I thought that we were over?"

"Bella, please," he stumbles over his words, and I give him some time to collect his thoughts, walking back and forth over that yellow line, trying not to touch the black. "I love you, I know you feel the same. We can get past this. Please, give me a chance to prove it to you." I think back to how indecisive I've been when it comes to both Edward and Jasper; giving Edward another chance or breaking up with him and how I've gone back and forth between hating and somehow needing Jasper. But the thing is that I don't want to feel like I need anyone on this road trip. It's not about fixing things with Edward, or even spending time with Jasper, it's all about reconnecting with my sister. Finding a way to cope with her death. I don't need to hold on to any part of my old life, in fact, I shouldn't. In order to move on, I should let go of all of my ties, all of my preconceived notions about Jasper and my anger and guilt towards Edward. I need a fresh start, a clean break. I need to focus on me.

"Edward, I promise that when I get back, we can talk about us. But right now, I need to learn to be okay on my own. I need to take this time away from Forks and away from my life there to figure myself out." Edward is silent for a while, and then he's speaking, and I can hear the sound of strain in his voice when he replies.

"I get it, I totally get it, but what am I supposed to do while you're gone? Wait for you?" I'm shaking my head before he even finishes. I'm hoping that he could do what I plan to do, but that would be impossible for someone outside of my circumstances.

"I just want you to learn to be happy without me, too."

And that's that. After we hang up, I think to myself that there's no way that learning to be happy without me is going to be difficult for him. I've resigned myself to the fact that I've made his life miserable the past couple of months. I don't want to linger on these thoughts for too long, though, because it defeats the entire purpose of this trip. I know bottling things up can be disastrous, but I have this strong urge to put it all behind me for now. I know it's not going away; all of my problems will still be there when I get back to Forks. I feel an almost crushing weight settle on my shoulders and have to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. Almost instantly, I'm exhausted. I lean back against the hood of Jasper's car and sigh.

"Do you mind?" I hear him shout. "Your ass is going to leave a dent in the hood that even I can't pop out." I roll my eyes and push away from the car, my eyes quickly scanning the hood for any sign of damage before I realize what I'm doing. Jasper's smirk is enough to let me know that he saw me.

"Get in," he says simply. I throw my bags into the back seat and climb into the car. Jasper is fiddling with the radio while I adjust the hem of my dress to cover my thighs. I can see a muscle in his jaw tick, his fingers turning white against the knobs, and it feels like time in the car stutters to a near halt.

I bite my lip. I can feel my pulse quickening. I try not to look at him, nervous as all hell as to what I'll find in his gaze, but it's like my eyes are drawn to his. He's not looking at me, instead he's looking at the hand on my thigh, his eyes intensely focused.

"Is it hard for you?" Jasper raises a single eyebrow before looking at me, a disconcerting smirk on his face.

"Yes."

"That's not what I meant."

"Sure it's not." He puts the car in gear and pulls out of the parking lot.

"You know what I mean," I huff. "Why can't you ever just answer my questions, honestly?"

"I think I've been pretty fucking honest with you," he says harshly. He pauses and I remain silent. "To answer your question, yes. I think about it, about you, more than I should." I nod, not even really sure why I asked. "Even now," he says more quietly this time, "I have to keep myself from reaching out and touching you." I close my eyes and can almost feel the smooth slip and slide of his calloused fingertips trailing a path up my thigh that has me struggling for breath.

My pulse jumps my eyes snapping open to find his hand on the gear shift. His arm is still, the muscles tense. I can see thick blue veins winding up his arm and disappearing beneath the cuff of his rolled up sleeves. My breathing quickens, and I'm sure than he can hear it in the too quiet car. I don't know what's been happening to me lately, or why I suddenly feel like I'm on fire. I'm embarrassed to have even asked the question, because a part of me already knew the answer. But now that he's said the answer aloud, I feel... different than I thought I would. Jasper looks agitated, his breaths coming out in short huffs. He readjusts himself in his seat and rolls his window down. The soft and subtle flutter of wind against my bare legs makes my eyes close.

"We can't talk about this anymore," Jasper says desperately, his voice tight and dangerously low. I nod my head shortly, turning to face my window. "Great," He grits out, sounding almost relived. "We have two hours until we're there."

The short drive to Brandon is spent much the same way the twenty-something hour drive down to Iowa had: in silence. I can feel anticipation crawling along my skin and by the time we're twenty minutes outside of the city I am practically vibrating in my seat. I need to get out of the car and stretch my legs again. Jasper is quiet and unaffected beside me. This trip to the world's largest frying pan doesn't matter much to him. He's not going to feel close to Alice at a tourist destination, and suddenly I feel bad that I've made this trip all about me.

"How about you pick our next stop?" I suggest, my tone deceptively light. Jasper raises a brow and shrugs before pulling off the main road. I can see it immediately. It's right in front of me, but the Kwik Mart behind it kind of pulls away from the enormity of it. There's a couple houses nearby and I can see a man mowing his lawn before Jasper and I get out of the car. The muscles in my legs are pinched and cramped, and I can see Jasper roll his neck out of the corner of my eye. He leans his elbow against the roof of his car and smiles sardonically.

"Well," he drawls without enthusiasm, "here we are." I walk around the car and stand in front of the frying pan. It's big, there's no doubt about it. In fact, it's so big that it's almost comical. It looks unreal, like it's made out of construction paper. I walk over to it and touch the sides, running my fingers over the smooth surface. It's impressive, but a part of my heart hammers inside my chest because for some reason, this wasn't what I was expecting.

"It's kind of underwhelming, isn't it?"

Jasper scoffs. "I just drove your ungrateful ass 30 hours to see this thing and that's the response I get?" I roll my eyes and step closer, trying to see if maybe that makes a difference to me. All I can see is the inky, pitch black belly of the frying pan. Up this close, the sounds of traffic behind me are muffled and distorted. I rest my head against black steel that -despite the heat- is chilling against my feverish skin, and close my eyes. Her name comes out as a whispered plea. "Alice?"

But she's not here. I know that already.

I don't even try to staunch the flood of tears once they begin falling.

Sometime later, I can't tell if it's seconds or hours, I hear Jasper approach."Bella?" His voice sounds tired and I sniffle, trying and failing to pull it together. "I don't know how the fuck you figured you would feel close to Alice at the world's largest frying pan. The world's largest mall, maybe..." I growl, low in my chest and Jasper looks startled. Then he smirks. "Come on," he says simply, "I'm picking our next stop."

I stare out the window listlessly, trying in vein to hide my disappointment. This trip has already strayed so far away from what I thought it could be. Absolutely nothing is going as planned and I'm not entirely sure what to make of it. I think about turning around. I think about what a stupid idea this has been. What a waste of a thirty hour drive.

A couple minutes later Jasper stops outside a building in the middle of nowhere. It looks like a warehouse of some sort. There's no name across the top, no way to guess where it is he's taken me until we walk around to the other side of the building.

"A shooting range?" I ask. Jasper can hear the skepticism in my voice, I'm sure. He pulls the door open and gestures me through with an impatient wave of his hand. "Yes. You need to let out some aggression." I feel the tips of my ears go pink and Jasper raises a single blonde brow before turning around. "I do, too," he deadpans. I follow him through a building filled with an impressive crop of firearms. Everything from pistols and shotguns to artillery rifles line the shelves. My temples are sweating and I can feel my hands start to shake where they dangle at my sides. Jasper stops at the front counter and produces his I.D. He gestures to me. "Give her your driver's license." my hands tremble as I try to pull the card out of my wallet. Finally, Jasper grabs it from me and deftly slides it out, handing it over to the woman at the counter.

"What are you looking for?" She asks, and I am lost in this world. This is so outside my comfort zone that I can feel my breath quickening. Jasper, as if sensing my impending panic, shifts just slightly, so that his hip bumps mine. He looks down at me and smiles, narrowing his eyes.

He's still looking at me when he replies "We need to rent two guns." I swallow nervously, still trapped in his gaze. I'm no longer overwhelmed by the amount of firearms in the room, but I feel just as disarmed by Jasper's penetrating gaze. "She'll take a standard issue nine millimeter, and I'll take a forty caliber." The lady nods her head and pulls two different guns from the display case below the cash-register. "Just one box for each," he finishes. She hands him some goggles and earmuffs, and then hands some to me. I'm holding them in my hand as though they're riddled with disease before Jasper turns to me and rolls his eyes. "Put them on." I do as he says, quickly adjusting the straps of each around my pony-tail. He looks down at me and sighs, but it sounds muffled. "You shouldn't be shooting a gun in that dress." I look down at my flower print sundress. It comes to mid-thigh and has annoyingly thin straps that keep slipping off my shoulder. I adjust one, before turning back to him.

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter what I'm wearing," I reply, before he quickly slips the gun into my hand. It's much heavier than I anticipated, and I have to clutch it tightly to avoid it slipping out of my damp palms.

"Trust me," I hear him breathe. His eyes scan me quickly, almost as though he's afraid to linger in one spot for too long. "It does."

I follow him outside where the yard behind the building stretches out for miles ahead. I can see mounds of dirt and targets placed strategically everywhere I look. Jasper walks ahead of me and I follow blindly, kicking up clouds of dirt with my converse. He takes me to an area filled with red and white targets. He sets the boxes down and beckons me forward.

"I'm going to teach you how to load a gun, and I want you to pay attention, okay?" I nod my head, feeling my breath come out in quick, short bursts. He stands even closer, and reaches down between us to pull something out of the box. The sun glints off of whatever it is and I'm momentarily blinded. Suddenly, I know exactly what it is that he's holding.

They're bullets.

"First, I want you to press this button, right here." He points to the side of the gun. "This will unload the magazine." I press the button and something falls into his hand. "Then you load the magazine with ammunition." I try to insert one and he stops me. I almost flinch when I feel his hand, warm and solid and steady, settle on top of mine. "Like this," he says, and he flips the bullet and expertly pushes it in. We finish loading the magazine and I take a deep breath, trying to stem my nerves. "Then you push the magazine back in like this," Jasper takes it and pushes it into the gun with a resounding click. "Disengage the safety here," he points to a little lever near the top of the gun and flicks the switch. "And then cock the gun," he slides the top of the gun backwards, and I'm awestruck all at once. I wonder how he learned to do this. I wonder why I feel so warm watching him expertly handle a weapon, and know, intrinsically,that I shouldn't feel this way.

He steps behind me with the gun still in his hand and swings his arms out in front of me, his elbows locked tight. I can feel his chest pressed against my back and shiver. I'm already nervous and his close proximity is doing nothing to help matters. In fact, it's making everything much worse. He leans down close, his lips as near to my ear as the ear-muffs will allow. "I'm going to help you, so you don't hurt yourself, but once you're used to it I want you to try shooting alone." I nod my head, too nervous to speak and Jasper steps even closer. "Put your hands on mine." I shake my head.

No fucking way. I'm not ready.

It's not too late to back out. I try to turn in his arms, but he's a steel cage around me.

"Listen," he says, "I know you're nervous, but I need you to take this seriously, okay?" I breathe out and nod my head. "You can do this, Princess." My heart jolts when he suddenly uses the nickname he's created for me-without malice- and at once, I feel a little more at ease. "Take a deep breath, and put your hands on mine."

Okay, I think, I can do this.

We fire the first shot together and I immediately change my mind.

"Fuck!" I yell, but I can barely hear myself over the ringing in my own ears. "That is so loud!" My heart is pounding but in a completely new and exciting way. The feeling of the weapon in my hand suddenly makes me feel powerful instead of terrified. I grin and turn to Jasper. He smiles in return, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He steps away from me, his eyes darting down to the bottom of my dress and back up again. "I think you can take it from here, Princess."

I think about his chest pressed against my back, and how I'm not sure that they've created a word yet for that feeling and nod slowly, my smile slipping from my face.

God, I'm not here to flirt with my sisters ex-boyfriend. What kind of piece of shit am I? As if reading my thoughts, Jasper turns to me and points towards one of the targets before us. "If you hit one target, I'll let you pick where we go next." I narrow my eyes, trying to mimic Jasper's stance. Before I get a chance to put my finger on the trigger, he rolls my hips forward with his hands. I can feel his breath across the back of my neck and repress a shiver.

"You need to stand shoulder width apart."

"Okay," I shout, too quickly. Jasper furrows his brow and then snatches his hands away from my hips and stands back. With renewed interest, my eyes locked ahead, I square my hips toward the target and fire.

I don't make a single shot.

Jasper decides, to unwind and to get rid of any lingering nerves, to take us to a bar. This time, he doesn't get carded and he orders me a beer to go along with his whiskey. My hands are still shaking as I take my first sip, but after our second round the nerves have all but disappeared.

"That was fun." I'm still floating through my exhilarating adrenaline high but I can tell that Jasper is definitely not in the same lighthearted mood that I am. He nods his head and spins his glass around and around between his hands. His eyes are distant and unfocused.

"Yeah," he whispers. I know that asking him what's wrong would be the last thing that he wants, but I do it anyways. I'm prepared to hear him whisper a short 'nothing' or to give me that look, the one that says that he won't even dignify my question with a response. I get neither.

"That didn't help."

"What do you mean?" Jasper is still staring at the bar rail made of pockmarked wood, his eyes narrowed and intense.

"I thought that maybe shooting would help to relieve some of the pent up anger I feel, but nothin' is working. Drinking, shooting, sleeping. It's still there, underneath all the other bullshit. And it's crazy, because I'm not mad at you-"

"Shocking," I whisper beneath my breath.

"-I'm mad at Alice." I freeze. My blood churning hot and frothy through my veins. I can feel my face grow warm, can feel the tips of my fingers start to go numb, because while I'm glad that Jasper is finally talking to me, I never could have imagined this would be what he finally chose to open up about. Jasper is and always has been a steel trap in my mind.

But as I watch him sniff, his slightly upturned nose crinkling; I realize that that is not entirely true. Jasper takes another swig of his drink and orders two shots of tequila. He doesn't say anything else, just hands me a salt shaker and waits for me to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do with it.

"You're supposed to put it on your wrist. Lick it off before you shoot the tequila." I shake some salt on my wrist and growl under my breath, because I'm kind of tipsy but I know that I look like an idiot, because it's all over my lap now.

Jasper takes my hand in his and flips my wrist over before bringing my skin to his mouth and laving his tongue across the sensitive flesh there. He grabs the salt shaker after I don't move and shakes some out onto the wet strip of skin. He doesn't drop my hand, but he looks startled by what he's just done.

"Bella?"

I swallow thickly, because I don't see a line of glittering salt, I see a bruise and then there's flashes of Jasper and a dark bedroom and a crushed silk dress and without waiting for him, I lick the salt from my wrist and shoot the tequila. When I look back up, his eyes are dark. He doesn't use salt, and he tosses the lemon onto the bar before taking the shot and slamming the glass back on the table.

"Fuck," he slurs, and I can't even tell you what that one whispered curse does to me.

"Why are you angry?"

"What?" Jasper asks, his eyes narrowed and glassy.

"At Alice, why are angry?" Jasper takes a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the bar again. I watch as he twists too long fingers through his hair.

And then he's looking at me again; looking _through_ me, and he asks "Aren't you?"

A/N: That scene in the shooting range is actually a super sexy date I went on with my hubby, where I had to get drunk afterwards because shooting a gun was terrifying.


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